When Trust Breaks
by wizardology101
Summary: How much of Sam being okay, of him being "happy," came from the fact Dean said he trusted him?
1. Prologue

_A/N - This is my first fanfiction so bear with me. It's set after episode #7.04 so will have spoilers up through that point. Will most likely become AU soon._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, the show would have very little plot and a great deal of chick-flickiness._

_**_Update: Watch the trailer for this FF here: www. youtube (.com) (/) watch?v=DJXPKFbnQGY (minus the spaces and the parentheses)._**_

* * *

><p>Sam felt good. It was amazing really. He felt <em>happy<em>, something he hadn't in years, or maybe _ever_. Like he told Dean, the guilt was finally melting away. At first he thought it was because... Well, those people had died to atone for their remorse, right? Sam? Sam had died multiple times and been tortured in Hell for over a hundred years. Shouldn't that mean that he made up for everything? Shouldn't that be the reason he felt like this?

Theoretically. But after much psychoanalyzing, he figured out that that wasn't it. Not for him. It had nothing to do with Hell, with him dying at all.

It was always Dean.

That had always been the worst part, the knowledge that Dean would never look at him the same way again, that Dean would never trust him again. No amount of Hell would make up for that. No amount of physical pain he could suffer would ever make that better.

But Dean had said he _trusted_him. He had said it and actually meant it for once. He hadn't killed Amy when Sam knew without a doubt that he had wanted to.

And that, Sam realized, was why he felt so good. That was why right now, it felt like everything was right in a way it hadn't been his entire life. Crazy, right? There were freaking _leviathans_ on the loose. And then there was the fact that Lucifer kept popping up at random points in time. But see, none of that was really much of an issue because _Dean trusted him again._ Everything else just paled in comparison. If Dean trusted him then he could take on Lucifer time after time and win. It was what was currently keeping him sane, keeping Hell from taking over. Dean trusted him and that made everything else okay.

He honestly never thought he'd hear the words _'I trust you'_directed at him again. In which case, he would have felt perfectly justified wallowing in self-hatred and loathing for the rest of his life. But he felt that if Dean could believe in him and forgive him, maybe he could forgive himself too...?

Because in all honesty, Dean's opinion was the only thing that had ever mattered.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: If people like the idea then this will be a multi-chapter story full of Guilty!Protective!BigBrother!Dean and Hurt!Limp!Sam. Because I miss BigBrother!Dean and what better way to bring him back than whumping Sam?_


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, story alerted, etc! I'm glad you guys liked the idea! As a result, I have the majority of it already written and will hopefully, in the case that nothing goes wrong, be posting weekly.**

**Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.**

**AU after episode 7x04**

* * *

><p>Things were normal. At least as normal as they could get when you were trying to stop leviathans from wrecking havoc across the globe. Sam was… <em>happy<em> which was still kind of weirding Dean out. As… _happy_ as Dean was that Sam was… _happy_, he knew it wasn't going to last. Hunters didn't get happy. _Sam_ didn't get happy. When Dean thought back on it, he honestly wondered if there was a single moment in that kid's life he could claim to actually be _happy_. So that was why, while Dean was happy that Sam was happy and miraculously _not_ seeing Lucifer, he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So naturally, when the moment came that his secret spilled its guts all over the floor between them and made Sam decidedly _un_happy, he was wholly unprepared for it.

They had exhausted a good portion of their resources, searching anywhere they could for information on how to kill a leviathan. The result? Nothing. It turned out to be a completely futile search ending with many confused hunters and very little useful information. Or rather, _no_ useful information.

So Sam, problem-solver oh that he was, decided that they should go to a psychic. "They could talk to the other side," Sam had said. "Do we really have any other options?" Sam had said. "They could help us," Sam had said.

Yeah, '_help_' is right.

Things had been fine. Dean had relented and agreed to go to the psychic. They had gotten into contact with a psychic named Kathleen via Bobby. They had shown up at Kathleen's house.

That's when things started to be not so fine.

She opened the door, took one look at them and slammed it shut again.

"Go away!" she shouted and really? Just… really? Manners were obviously not a prerequisite for communicating with the dead. What happened when you slammed a door shut on a dead person? Well, Dean supposed, they'd just walk right through it… But then they'd be pissed because regardless of whether or not the slamming of the door was effective, the sentiment remained the same.

"What the hell…" Dean grumbled and Sam just shrugged, banging on the door again. Sam looked on edge, though Dean wasn't quite sure why. Talking to witnesses and… _spooked_ psychics was generally Sam's forte. One look at the puppy dog eyes and they'd beg forgiveness for slamming a door in his face.

"Ms… Liander?" Sam called, looking to Dean for confirmation. "Bobby sent us." He paused, waiting for a reaction of which he got none. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes and ignoring Sam's responding glare. "We just thought that maybe you could help us with this… _problem_ we're having…"

It was quiet for another moment before the door creaked open just enough for the woman to poke her head out. She surveyed them both carefully, chewing on her lip. Dean supposed it could have been his paranoia but he was pretty sure she stared at Sam longer than she did at him. There was something in her gaze, something that made it dangerous and Dean was suddenly even more uncomfortable with being there than he was before. "You can come in," she said to Dean, "but he has to wait in the hall." She looked pointedly at Sam and stepped back, allowing them room to pass.

Sam opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again as what she said registered, glancing at Dean in confusion. Dean shrugged. He had no idea. They had driven across three states to talk to this woman so if she could help, then they would humor the crazy lady and her paranoia. He didn't like it and it didn't make any sense but again, maybe she could help. He watched Sam as he hesitated for a moment and then reluctantly nodded, stepping up into the house.

Once inside, Dean froze. They had walked into a frickin' funhouse. There were doors everywhere. The floor was tiled and there were _wood doors_ covering every single one of the walls. Four doors per inside wall. _Thirteen doors_… Why the hell would anyone need that many doors? To confuse people, Dean supposed. To get them lost in her house of horrors.

On top of that – literally – there was a devil's trap painted on the ceiling. A devil's trap but no salt lines. Dean pursed his lips, mind drifting off as the woman ranted at Sam. If a psychic ate a lot of salt - like _a lot_ of salt – would it dull their ability to talk to ghosts?

He was pulled out of his unhelpful thoughts when a finger poked him in the side. For the record, he didn't flinch. He's Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester does not flinch. Though, Kathleen seemed to think otherwise if her smirk was anything to go by. Which it totally wasn't.

"What do you want? Can't you leave me alone? I don't _like you_. I don't even know you and I don't _like you_," Kathleen grumbled, glancing anxiously around the room. She was a motherly woman, the kind that always tended to stuff Sam full of cookies. That's why it was more than a little disconcerting that she was staring at him like he was a pipe bomb. Dean decided then that he really didn't like it here. He really didn't like Kathleen much either. She was just too far south of sanity for his liking. She hadn't really even _said_ anything to him and he already knew.

"We… need to kill a leviathan," Sam told her, biting his lip. Dean watched for her reaction but she didn't seem to have one. She just nodded, shrugging her shoulders as if this was something she heard everyday. Dean had been expecting a gasp, a cry of anguish, even a _'What the hell is a leviathan?'_ He had _not_ been expecting nothing. And it kind of bothered him that she had taken his structured existence in which people are shocked when they hear horrifying news and stomped all over it.

It was rude to ruin someone's existence without dinner first.

"Okay," she sighed, gesturing to the door behind her. "Head through that door. I have to go get some stuff. Fun stuff. Or not so fun stuff depending on whether you're the one using it or the one it came from… But for me, it's fun stuff." She turned to go through one of the many doors but then stopped, turning around and surveying them carefully. "Just know that whatever happens, whatever you may think when you leave here… I have helped you kill the leviathan." With that, she left the room.

It was quiet for several moments as Dean tried to wrap his head around the crazy. He was having a difficult time of it too.

"What do you think?" Sam whispered, breaking the decidedly safe silence. Sam looked uncomfortable, shifting back and forth, gaze darting around. Not that Dean could blame him._ He_ wanted to turn tail and _run_. Really far, really fast. But this was Sam's great idea so Dean figured that meant all his rights to discomfort had been revoked.

Dean shrugged, turning to face the door he was apparently supposed to go through. For all he knew, there could be one of those swinging pendulum anvil things that Sam would instantly know the proper name of on the other side, set to slice him in half. "Crazy. Definitely 'dingo-ate-my-baby' crazy."

"'kay, so what do you think? Are we gonna stay?" he asked. Dean glanced over at his brother but Sam was staring up at the devil's trap, a look of confusion on his face. Dean's eyes narrowed, wondering if the crazy was catching. It certainly looked like it. It was a _devil's trap_. They had seen them a million times before.

"Um… Yeah. I mean… I guess so. Bobby sent us to her so she must be… _skilled_." He smirked and Sam turned to stare at him, clearly un-amused. Dean held out for a few more seconds under the disapproving glare before he grumbled, "Fine... Be prepared to get out of here though. _Quickly_." Sam nodded, attention once again going to the devil's trap above his head.

Glancing around once more, Dean wondered why the woman had wanted Sam to stay in the hall...Maybe it had something to do with an energy connection. Maybe Sam was the antennae for the spirits but it only worked if he stood in that exact spot. It would make as much sense as anything else. Sam was certainly tall enough to get good reception.

Dean sighed and gave his brother one last look before he stepped through the door.

* * *

><p>Okay. So that whole 'Let's summon spirits to help us kill the leviathan' thing? Didn't work. At all. The spirits were incredibly unhelpful to the point where Dean figured they were just being spiteful. So yeah, Sam and he had salt and burned a few hundred of their bodies. No reason for them to hold grudges…<p>

Stepping out of the room and back into the hallway, he muttered, "Well thanks anyway." What happened to her promises of help and deliverance and all that crap? _Crap_. That's definitely what it was.

Sam looked at him quizzically and Dean just shook his head, message conveyed and received. He heard Sam sigh as they both turned towards what they hoped was the door out of there, disappointment weighing heavily around them. And yeah, it sucked. This was definitely a last attempt and now they were out of options. Apparently, the leviathans were going to run around wrecking havoc for the rest of eternity. Couldn't this be some other hunter's problem? Why was the safety of the planet always for him and Sam to deal with?

...Probably because they were the only two stupid enough to even bother.

Kathleen followed them out, stopping on the porch as they continued on to the car. Dean watched Sam smile up at the woman and wave his goodbye and then what happened next hardly seemed to register. He remembered his stomach dropping to his feet or maybe even below that. He remembered himself flinching. And yeah, in this case, Dean would admit that he flinched.

"You should have listened to your brother, Dean," Kathleen called and both Dean and Sam froze, staring up at her. "You shouldn't have killed that girl." With that she turned and walked back inside, leaving behind the disaster she had unknowingly – or quite possibly _knowingly_ – just created.

* * *

><p><strong>Be warned, I like cliff-hangers. :-)<strong>


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm back! I know I said a chapter every week but I feel this is a better place to cut off and make everyone wait. Plus, it's Supernatural Friday! Woohoo!**

**_Now_ I will resume a normal, weekly posting schedule. :-)**

**Again, thanks for all the reviews, story alerts, favorites, etc! I love hearing from everyone!**

**Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.**

**AU after episode 7x04**

* * *

><p>Dean stood outside the Impala, staring across the roof at his brother and debating what the odds were that said-brother didn't hear what the crazy psychic lady said. He could hope that maybe Sam hadn't understood. She was vague about it, right?<p>

Yeah, but how many other women were there that Dean killed when Sam told him not to?

Maybe the wind carried her voice away and all Sam heard was a garbled mess…?

Sam was still staring at the door the woman had disappeared through, jaw clenched tight. Never mind then. Definitely heard it.

"Sam—" Dean started to say but the anger in Sam's eyes instantly dissipated and if Dean didn't know Sam the way he did, he never would have thought it was there at all. Sam turned to look at him, a slightly forced smile breaking out across his face.

"Well that was a bust," he said. "Guess we'll have to figure something else out…" Dean watched as Sam shrugged and climbed into the passenger side of the Impala, closing the door. He didn't slam it, just closed it as he would any other day. And this was kind of freaking Dean out. He expected screaming and shouting and eventually sharing and caring complete with a manly hug. He _didn't_ expect nothing.

That was why he was on edge the entire drive back.

He kept waiting for Sam to go off on him but he didn't. He just looked over case files like he would any other drive. But it was quiet and the quiet was oppressive. Though, it seemed Dean was the only one to notice. He felt like there was a noose around his neck and he was waiting for the executioner to pull the lever. He tried turning the music on but for some reason, it didn't sound like music. All it sounded like was_ noise_. Between it and Sam's silence and the anticipation of Sam breaking-said silence, his brain was going to hemorrhage so he flipped it off again.

Things stayed this way as they pulled up to the motel and he followed Sam inside. Sam was saying something about a werewolf in some town with a population less than the number of scars Dean had on his body but Dean wasn't really listening. At all.

"Are you gonna yell at me because honestly, this whole 'let's ignore our problems' thing? That's my gig," he interrupted. Sam looked up at him from where he was rummaging through his duffle on the bed, slightly surprised at his outburst.

"And what's mine?" he asked, far too calm sounding for someone in his position. Maybe he was being passive-aggressive. It was possible, Dean supposed though generally when Sam was pissed, he didn't hold back. If he was going to respond to this in true Sam Winchester fashion, he should really have been sulking or angsting or something other than acting _normal_. Dean didn't answer and Sam sighed, going back to looking through his bag. "What do you want me to say-?"

"I don't know!" Dean snapped, scrubbing his hand down his face. "Get mad! Throw a punch! Do _something_! Be pissed at me! Be anything other than what you're being right now!" Sam sighed again, moving his bag to the table. It was quiet for several moments and Dean felt the tension in the room growing. He knew he was baiting an angry dog and usually when you do that, you get your hand bitten off.

"I don't know what you want from me," Sam said finally, voice starting to rise in volume. "I mean, _you _killed her, _you_ tell _me_ how to react. How," he turned to Dean, a challenge in his eyes, "how should I react to this because this is how I've chosen to and it's clearly not what you were aiming for."

Dean stood quietly by the door, gaze dropping to his hands. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how _he_ was supposed to react. How are you supposed to act after someone tells your brother that you did exactly what he told you not to after you told him you wouldn't do it? After you _promised_ him you wouldn't do it?

"I don't know what you want, Dean, because really, _I'm fine_." Dean looked up at him but Sam continued to stuff things into his bag, refusing to meet his gaze.

"You're fine?" Dean repeated dumbly, mind still trying to process what it was being told.

At that, Sam looked up at him and shrugged, bottom lip pursing. "Yeah," he said, going back to his task. "I mean sure, she was a monster. You had to take care of it, I get it. It's cool." Dean was still standing by the door, jaw working but nothing coming out. He was trying to say something. He really was, though he wasn't quite sure what it was he was trying to say. Maybe figuring that out would help...

"Why aren't you seriously pissed right now?" Dean asked, gesturing wildly. "'cuz you should be. Hell, _I_ would be!"

Sam just shrugged again, folding up a t-shirt. He turned to face Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. "I really don't know what you want me to say. _I'm_ not pissed. _I _understand. You're a hunter. She's a monster. It needed to happen. _It's fine_."

Dean could tell there was something wrong. But he knew Sam and Sam sounded serious. He didn't sound pissed. Dean would know if he was pissed. Dean was more than well accustomed to the varying degrees of Sam's pissiness and this didn't fit any of them. He probably should have pushed the matter. He probably should have ordered Sam to punch him in the face, ordered him to talk about his feelings, _something_. But he was so desperate to avoid the inevitable chick-flick moment that he decided to take the easy way out Sam was providing him with. And again, Sam really did seem fine. He definitely wasn't pissed which... was strange.

"Okay…" He turned and sat on the edge of his bed. "You sure you don't want to take a swing because you can go ahead. I won't even hit you back." Dean watched carefully, gauging his brother's reaction. Sam just chuckled, pulling books out of his bag and dropping them onto his own bed.

"I'm good, Dean. Really. It's cool." Dean stared at him for another moment, looking for any of Sam's tells, anything that would let him know Sam was lying. There weren't any though and Dean pursed his lips, figuring that he'd miraculously managed to dodge a bullet.

"Okay, then." He flopped back onto his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head and allowing his eyes to slip shut. "I think I'm gonna hit the bar tonight. You wanna come?" Peeling one of his eyes open, he glanced at his brother.

"Nah," Sam answered, leaning against the headboard of his own bed, laptop sitting open in his lap. "I'll stay in and do some research. You go ahead."

Dean surveyed him for another moment but again, there was nothing in his brother's countenance that would show there was anything wrong. Huh. Maybe Sam really was okay. Maybe 'happy-Sam' was more long-term than he thought.

With that thought, he sunk back into his bed and allowed his eyes to slip closed.

* * *

><p>He knew the instant he opened the door that something was wrong. If he was honest with himself, he knew before he even left for the bar that something was wrong. That was why he didn't get completely plastered and go home with Tracy or Trina or Jeanette or whatever her name was. He was on edge, way too much so to allow himself to properly enjoy what should have been a quite enjoyable evening.<p>

It was his big brother radar. It had been going off for hours and he had been ignoring it, hoping it would just go away. Though, when he pushed the door open and was met with a pitch black room at 11:00 at night, he really wished he hadn't ignored it.

"Sam!" he called, flipping the light switch on. The bed was empty, meaning Sam was not on it. The table was empty meaning Sam wasn't there either. His last chance was the bathroom so he stormed through the room to the door. "Sammy!"

There was no answer, not that he'd really been expecting one. The door was open, the light was off, and there was no Sam. "_Sammy!"_ he shouted again though in all honesty, he had no idea why. Sam was clearly gone and clearly wouldn't be answering him. He supposed it was just a natural reaction to _Sam being gone_.

Frantically, he searched the room and found nothing. This meant that he literally found _nothing_. All of Sam's stuff was gone. His duffle, his laptop, even down to his toothbrush. It had all been cleaned out. There was a distinct lack of _little brother_ in this room and Dean was seriously starting to panic.

With shaking hands, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the first speed dial, hoping beyond anything that Sam would _freaking_ _pick up_.

"'_lo?"_ the voice came from the other end and Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god—_Where the hell are you, bitch!_?" Dean nearly shouted into the phone. Relief made his knees weak and he sunk down onto the edge of the bed, covering his face with his free hand.

"_Oh hey, Dean!"_ Sam replied, sounding falsely normal. Too normal for someone who had just _taken off, _for someone who was supposed to be sitting in this motel room. With Dean. _"How was the bar, man? You're back early—"_

"What the hell, Sam_!_?" he growled, driving the heel of his hand into his eye. He took a deep breath, trying to keep from going postal. "Where are you_!_?"

There was a slight pause and then Sam answered, "_Um… why?"_ and Dean just about fell off of the bed.

"_Why__!_?" he demanded, hand gripping at the bedspreads. "I come back to the motel room and find my brother _gone_ and you ask me _why?_! Why do you think_!_? Now where are you?"

_"Hey, man, it's cool. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I just went to take care of a hunt in Maine."_

Dean's brain just about died at that moment as it was apparently physically impossible for it to figure out why Sam was out there when he was supposed to be here. Not _there;_ _h__ere_. There had to at least be some smoke pouring out of his ears. "Why?" Dean parroted.

_"Uh… because we're hunters and that's what we do…?_ _You okay? How much did you drink—_"

"Why the hell would you just _take off!_?" Dean demanded, standing back up. "What hunt are you even talking about_!_? Why are you _gone!_?"

_"Why wouldn't I be gone, Dean?"_ Sam snapped. _"You've made it pretty clear that you don't trust me, and I honestly can't say I blame you. But I _tried_, Dean. I tried like hell to make up for what I did. But you killing Amy just showed me that nothing I do is ever going to be enough. Me being there with you is of absolutely no help to either of us. You need a partner you can trust to have your back. That's not me, man."_

"Sammy—" Dean tried to say, feeling like this entire thing was slipping away from him. And it was. Quickly. And he had no freaking idea how to get it back.

_ "I tried to make things better, Dean. I really, _really_ did. But I know that nothing's ever gonna make it better. And… that's… fine. I have to live with that. But you don't need me there. Not like this. My staying's just gonna hold you up."_

"Sam, that's insane! You can't honestly think—" The click from the other end of the phone sounded far too definite for Dean to maintain any semblance of self-control. "Damnit, Sammy!" he shouted, hurling his cell phone at the wall and taking some satisfaction from the sound of its battery popping out.

He was shaking, he realized numbly. His hands were vibrating. His hands were vibrating and his brother was gone and he felt sick. Seriously, seriously sick. As in vomit-worthy.

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. It was all of about two seconds before he leapt for his phone, reattaching his battery and hitting the speed dial again.

"C'mon, Sam," he muttered under his breath. "Answer the phone." Naturally, in agreement with Dean's entire _life_, Sam did not answer his phone. It rang out. The damn thing _rang out_ and Sam did not freaking _answer it!_

"_Sammy_…" he growled, hitting the end call button. He continued to grumble to himself as he scrolled through his contacts, hitting the connect button. It rang. And rang. And rang. And— Yes!

"Bobby! Sam's gone. We've gotta track him down and—"

"_Dean…?"_ Bobby muttered from the other end. "_You got any idea what time it is?_"

"I know, Bobby, and I'm sorry but Sam took off and we need to find him and—"

"_What'd you do, ya idjit?"_

Dean hesitated, biting at his lip. "Why do you instantly assume I did something? I didn't do anything—"

_"Cut the crap, Dean. You wouldn't be freaking out this bad if it was something Sam needed to work out on his own which means_ you_ did something.__ What'd you do?"_

Dean sighed, sinking back down onto the edge of the bed. "I lied to him. I did something… I shouldn't have… and…" He growled to himself, scrubbing his hand down his face. "He wasn't supposed to find out but that goddamn psychic of yours let the goddamn cat out of the goddamn bag!"

It was quiet on the other end of the phone for several minutes, long enough to cause Dean to check and make sure the call was still connected. "_If he took off on his own then I don't think we can really—"_

Dean snapped. His day had been really shitty and no one – and he meant _no one_ – was going to tell him how to take care of _his_ little brother. "I don't give a shit, Bobby," he growled. "I'm tracking him down. And I'm bringing him home. Now are you with me or not?"

This had to be fixed. This had to be fixed _now_ because Sam? Sam was never supposed to think like that, was never supposed to talk like that. And right now? This situation right here? This was Dean's fault . And that wasn't okay. Not at all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Okey dokey! Again, I love to hear your thoughts! Reviews are awesome!**

**See you next week!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, story alerted, story favorited, etc! I love knowing what you guys think. :-)**

**Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.**

**AU after episode 7x04**

* * *

><p>Dean growled in frustration. It had been over twelve hours since Sam had taken off. <em>Twelve freaking hours<em>. Dean wasn't even sure _why_ it was taking twelve freaking hours other than the fact that he was stupid enough to call Bobby first and agree when Bobby made him _swear_ not to go after Sam until he got there. Therefore, Dean was waiting for Bobby which was seriously pissing him off.

Though, he never swore he wouldn't do _anything _until Bobby got there.

This meant that Dean had been analyzing police reports, looking for stolen cars in the area. Three had been stolen last night and he knew exactly which one it was that Sam had taken because – duh – he knew Sam. So he had called local and state police departments, making sure everyone was on the lookout for that car because apparently, it was involved in an important federal investigation… What? It totally was.

So now Dean was being good and waiting for both Bobby and the incompetent police department of Boston, Massachusetts. Though, if said-incompetent police department suddenly decided to become competent and call him with information on his brother's whereabouts, his attempt at being good would swiftly come to an end.

That was when the phone rang. Dean didn't even bother to check the caller-id as the situation was far too severe for him to waste precious time doing so. Besides, if it wasn't someone he wanted to talk to, he could just hang up on them and it would probably take half the time it would take to wait for the phone to ring out. There, see? He's all for time management. "Hello? Agent Johnson speaking." He bit his lip – hard – to keep from demanding the person on the other end of the phone tell him where his little brother was, regardless of whether said-person had any idea at all.

"_Agent Johnson? Yes, um… We found that car you were talking about… license plate DKE 2528?_"

"Tell me _where_," the words came out harsher than he had initially intended but still… if it got the job done, then he didn't really care. Not at this point. If he scared the person half-to-death and they told him faster, then he counted that as a win.

"_Right um… Well it's off the highway um… Highway 16. Just past exit 19—_"

"'kay, thanks," he interrupted, ending the call and dialing Bobby's number. It rang and rang and rang, wasting his time completely. He wasn't surprised when it went to voice-mail because naturally, he'd have to wait for the longest time possible before he could tell Bobby what was going on. He briefly wondered if there was a button you could press to make it go straight to the other person's voice-mail. He didn't think so, but Sam would know for sure. He'd ask him _when_ he found him. "Hey Bobby. Found Sam's car. Sounds like he's already ditched it. I'm heading out to Highway 16 exit 19 to see what I can find. I'll meet you there."

With a goal in mind, he hung up his phone, dressed himself as a real fake FBI agent would, and stormed out the door.

* * *

><p>Fortunately – or <em>un<em>fortunately depending on your perspective – the car was pretty impossible to miss and all Dean could do was hope to a nonexistent, absent, apathetic god that he was wrong and that this wasn't Sam's car. Because it better not be.

He could have made a mistake, right? Maybe Sam finally got smart and broke pattern for once or something, _anything_ that made this car _not Sam's__._

A police-line outlined the area, enclosing the car, and naturally, there were police everywhere. That was the first thing that caught his attention. It was just a stolen car and just a stolen car shouldn't have been getting this much attention from the cops. They should have like, _ impounded_ it or something and not been rushing around like a murder had just taken place. Which it better not have. Dean pulled over and jumped from the Impala pretty much before he had even had it stopped. He flashed his badge at one of the officers as he rushed past, freezing several feet away from the car's open driver's door.

There was blood everywhere, on the ceiling, on the seats... It stained the upholstery, was splattered on the windows... He stood there, not able to look or think past what he was seeing in the front seat of that car. He felt sick. Violently, _violently_ sick and his vision started to swirl. All he could think was that Sam better be far, far away from anywhere near this car. Sam better not have even _thought_ about being anywhere near this car. Because if he was— Dean cut himself off because Sam was okay. Sam was okay because he had to be, because after everything that had happened, there were no other options.

"What happened here?" Dean asked, voice coming out more as a croak than anything else. He figured he probably wasn't pulling off the FBI agent thing very convincingly, but acting took effort that he was instead using to keep from panicking, that he was using to tell himself that it wasn't Sam's car. It wasn't. One of the policemen stopped and looked at him, worried, before turning back to whatever notes he was working on.

"Um… Well… It looks like…" the man sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "Someone tried to bleed someone else dry." He shifted uncomfortably under Dean's stare which was probably pretty scary so Dean couldn't really blame him. "But uh… there were no bodies in the car, locks aren't broken so they either knew each other or the one got threatened into letting the other into the car. Um… Yeah… The car was found around ten o'clock this morning and no one was in it then. So… The possibilities are that the psycho took his victim out of the car to torture elsewhere or the victim's already dead and the psycho buried him along the side of the road somewhere."

"I'm gonna uh…" He gestured stupidly at the open car and rushed away from the man who was telling him his baby brother's body could be lying mutilated in a ditch somewhere. Sam's body was _not_ lying in a ditch somewhere because _this wasn't Sam's car_. Sam was somewhere else, far, far... _far_away.

He swallowed thickly and leaned into the doorway, careful not to touch anything. The blood was splattered everywhere _except_, Dean realized, where the victim had been sitting because – duh – the body would have caught any blood falling there. When he looked, he immediately noticed that there wasn't a matching bloodless spot anywhere in the car. That meant ghost, something the blood would travel right through.

So that meant a malevolent spirit had gotten into the car and carved Sa- the _victim_ up. Not Sam; _victim_. God, he had to stop doing that. Shaking himself, he thought back, wondering if Sam said anything ever about a possible case here. He didn't think so. Actually, he was pretty positive he didn't. So what did that leave him? A big pile of nothing.

He was about to examine the back seat but the entire world froze in place when his gaze drifted to the floor and instantly landed on a piece of fabric –_ torn off_ piece of fabric. A torn off piece of fabric from a shirt that belonged to _Sam_. _Sam's_ shirt. _Sam's shirt_. That made this _Sam's_ car which in turn made it all _Sam's_ blood. Sam's _blood_. _Sam's blood_.

Dean stumbled backwards, forgoing his analysis of the backseat in favor of gripping his stomach to try to keep it from heaving. It wasn't working too well and he barely managed to make it to the Impala before he was latching onto the driver's door with both hands, watching as the world swirled around him which, by the way, did nothing to calm his rebelling stomach. Actually, it did quite the opposite.

There was so much of it, so much _blood__. _It gave him a completely different outlook on the crime scene when he knew all those people were clinically debating his _little brother's _demise. It gave him a completely different outlook on the crime scene when he knew that it was _Sam_ who had sat in that car, when he knew it was _Sam_ that something had tried to bleed out. That was what made him fall into the memories of the dreams he had during the year Sam was in Hell. A masochistic part of him wondered if Sam screamed for him, for his big brother to make the pain stop like he always did in Dean's nightmares.

He didn't come back to himself and was pretty sure he was going to pass out until a hand landed on his shoulder and he heard Bobby's voice, telling him to 'calm the hell down, ya idjit.' Dean wanted to reply, to ask him how the hell he expected him to calm down when _Sam was missing_ and Sam's car was covered in little brother blood.

"It's his car, Bobby," he choked out, swallowing thickly in attempt to counteract anything that tried to come up the other way. "It's his car and there's blood, Bobby. It's everywhere and it's Sammy's car and—"

"Alright," Bobby said quietly, trying to soothe him. "I'll go check it out. You sit here and try not to hyperventilate." Dean nodded before slowly climbing into his car, staring anywhere but the crime scene.

What if something had happened because Dean hadn't been there? What if Sam had been dead for hours and Dean didn't know, couldn't save him, because he hadn't been there? What if he had lost Sam forever because he hadn't been there when he should have? His mind drifted, remembering a younger version of himself silently promising a terrified Sammy that he'd never leave him. But how many times had he left? How many times had he let Sam leave? Every time was one too many.

Dean shook himself. He couldn't think like this. He _couldn't_. He would curl up into a ball and die if he did and that would help no one. Sam was _fine_. Sure it was Sam's car, but Sam could easily still be alive. And he _was_ still alive. Because again, there were no other options.

He was so lost in thought that he jumped when Bobby's hand landed on his shoulder again. He ignored the look Bobby shot him because he was afraid that if he analyzed it, he'd find pity. And he didn't want anyone's pity because Sam was still alive, goddammit! "It's Sam's car and with this road the way it is it's gonna be near impossible to track him. There ain't no signs he went into the woods so that means…"

"He either followed the highway or the spirit's already stashed his body in a ditch somewhere," Dean interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. He instantly froze because he hadn't given his mouth permission to say that, much less give his brain permission to think it. Sam was alive, Sam was alive... He kept repeating that to himself, wondering if believing would be enough to make it so.

Feeling desperate for something that would give him a more concrete form of hope, he grabbed his cell phone, instantly hitting Sam's speed dial number.

"_Hey, this is Sam—_" Dean all but brained himself on the phone when all he got was Sam's voice-mail. That could mean either one of two things: 1.) Sam was ignoring him, or 2.) Sam was incapacitated and unable to reach said-phone.

"Sammy," he snapped, wishing that for once, Sam's stubborn streak would have allowed him to pick up. "I need you to call me. I get you're pissed and whatever but this is important." He paused and then started again, quieter, "Please. Just... tell me you're okay? Let me know you aren't lying in a ditch somewhere." He meant the last sentence to lighten the mood but it came out far more pleading than he had intended, making it do just the opposite. He hit the end button, trying to keep the pit of despair, guilt, and grief from welling up inside him.

"Did you try tracking his GPS?" Bobby asked and Dean shot him a withering glare because, well, _duh_. Technology may have been Sam's forte but Dean wasn't inept... or s_tupid. _He had tried tracking the GPS about twenty minutes after he had found out Sam was gone.

"Of course I checked his GPS!" Dean snapped, scrolling through his contacts. "You know that kid and his technology. I can't get it activated. He's probably done something to it…"

Bobby sighed, glancing around the area as if Sam would just appear, staggering out of the trees. Dean wished he would. More than anything, he wished he would. "I guess I'll put some feelers out there. See if I can get people on the lookout for him." As he spoke, he pulled out his phone and started dialing numbers, stepping away from the car.

"Yeah, me too," Dean muttered, sending Sam alternately scathing and worried messages from his phone because really, if Sam had gotten his message he would have answered him already, right? He could at least have sent him a frickin' text. "Goddamnit! _Answer me, Sammy!_" He was starting to panic again. He knew he was, was perfectly aware of it. So he took a second, focusing on his breathing and stilling his shaking hands. It didn't work though. If anything, it made it worse.

It was in this moment that one of the cops from the crime scene came running towards his car, calling his name. What did he want? Confused, Dean stepped out, closing the driver's door.

"Sir," the man breathed. "We found something we think you might be interested in." Dean's breath caught in his chest because he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was these men thought he'd be interested in. It couldn't be anything good. They didn't come and tell an FBI agent that he might be interested in something positive. In all his experience, a cop had never once rushed up to an FBI agent like that to tell him the whole thing was an elaborate joke and laugh in his face.

Dean glanced back at Bobby who was in deep conversation with someone over the phone. Well, he wasn't going to be of any help then. Sighing, he reluctantly followed the man back to the crime scene, steps unintentionally slowing the closer he got.

"What is it?" Dean snapped when he finally reached the car. Maybe if they just told him, then he wouldn't have to look. He definitely wasn't looking unless they made him. He was already pointedly _not_ looking the car.

"Um… Well…" the man looked uncomfortable and slightly confused as he rocked back and forth on his feet. Dean's eyes narrowed. This guy looked seriously out of his element. He was young, probably a new recruit and Dean understood. He really did because he remembered a similar look once on his own face and then later, on Sam's. Finally the man sighed, giving up. "Just see for yourself." With that he pulled open the door to the back seat, revealing it to Dean's inspection.

Dean glanced at the man hesitantly, afraid to look too closely for fear he'd find a finger or something else equally horrifying that would take his hard-earned lack of nausea and throw it out the window. He hadn't made it to the backseat when he had examined the car the first time. He'd glanced, sure, just enough to see the blood everywhere but he hadn't really analyzed it. And now that he was, he found himself choking on nothing. He had missed it the first time, not even allowing it to register. The backseat had been completely shredded.

"They look like they were made by claws or more likely, fingernails since we actually found one in one of the scratches." Dean swallowed thickly, wishing his phone would go off in his pocket and that it would be Sam and that he'd be fine. The whole situation was so... _horrible_ that Dean had to actively repress the burning in his eyes. "But uh… Look closer…" Dean glanced at him like he was crazy because really? He wanted him to look at _that_ closer? Bracing himself, he stepped forwards, tracing the marks with his eyes, half-afraid he was going to find another one of his brother's _fingernails_ - _god_ - sticking up out of the upholstery.

And then it dawned on him what the man was talking about and the world came to a standstill.

An angel banishing sigil had been carved into the seat.

* * *

><p><strong>See you <strong>(hypothetically)<strong> next week!**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for the support everyone! I'm glad people like it. :-)**

**There's no Supernatural this week and that's really depressing.**

**Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.**

**AU after episode 7x04.**

**Now on with the story. There be a rocky road ahead of us...**

* * *

><p><em>Sam gulped down the liquor, hands shaking. The bartender looked equal parts sympathetic and terrified as she left shot after shot in front of him, running away after each one as quickly as she could. He didn't really blame her. Actually, he felt kind of sorry for her. He knew he looked terrible. There was a deep gash on his left hand, a scratch on his arm, and he was missing a fingernail.<em> _A_ frickin' fingernail_._

_On top of that, he hadn't slept for days and probably looked like a zombie. And he knew zombies. He was a little surprised, and honestly, impressed by his own stamina. Sure, he had gone a night or two without sleep before but never this long without even dozing off. It didn't even really help him to stay awake. _They_ came regardless of whether he was asleep or not. But he liked to trick himself into thinking that he could be on his guard, that he could do _something_ to make it stop, even though he knew he couldn't._

_He was also a little surprised by the fact that Dean hadn't hunted him down yet. It wasn't like he was all that great at hiding, particularly from Dean. Hell, he even told Dean what state he was going to be in, told him he was going to deal with a hunt there. There was only one explanation for Dean not having found him yet: Dean wasn't looking. Not that Sam could blame him. Hell, he __told him _not_ to look. That had never stopped Dean before though. Not unless Dean secretly agreed with everything Sam had said. Or rather, not so secretly agreed._

_That was part of why he was aiming to get plastered tonight. The other reason was the same reason he was jumping at every little sound, jumping at anyone who stepped within a five foot radius of him. So, he was going to take a leaf out_ of his big brother's book and drown his problems in alcohol._ Now, Sam had never been as big a drinker as a lot of the other people in his family. When he had problems, they were problems that generally demanded he stay lucid. Besides, hangovers were a bitch. But none of that mattered at this point because he was sure that things would be better if he was too drunk to worry about it._

_Smiling disarmingly at the bartender, he took the shot she offered, gulping it down and feeling it buzz through him. It wasn't enough yet. He wasn't even halfway to where he wanted to be. Someone brushed past him and he flinched, hand instantly going to the hilt of the knife he had hidden in his jacket. It was just a guy asking for another drink. It was just a guy... and he had almost skewered him with his knife. How's that for jumpy? The bartender was looking increasingly uncomfortable so he decided to take pity on her. And himself. Preferably somewhere with less people. A lot less people._

_Standing, he paid for the alcohol and left, intending to pick up some he could consume in the safety of his motel room._

* * *

><p><em>It was cold out. Sam had had enough of the cold. He had spent all the previous night in the cold and he didn't like it. At all. Because it was<em> freezing_.__ He supposed it got that way in Maine during the winter. It made sense. He just wished he had some warmer clothes with him. His brown coat just wasn't cutting it. Or rather, his brown jacket might as well have not even existed for all the good it was doing him._

_"Sam!" He heard the voice before he saw its owner but still, he knew exactly who it belonged to. When you had heard that voice practically every day of your life that you spent actually _alive_ - and even some that you didn't -__ it was pretty hard to mistake.__Speak of the devil… Or don't. Don't speak of the devil because in he may walk and you don't want that. At all.__ His response was to quicken his pace, forgoing the liquor store he had just walked past. He didn't need his brother to know that he had been planning to get drunk. That would only open up the field for questions that he didn't want to answer. Or it would open up the field and Dean would ignore said-field completely and not ask him what was wrong. He wasn't sure that was a good outcome either._

_"Dean," he sighed, "what're you doing here?" Dean sounded annoyed, Sam realized as Dean came running up beside him. He also realized that it was probably sad that he could predict his brother's mood just from the sound of his footsteps. Whatever. They spent _a lot_ of time around each other. Besides, being able to gauge Dean's mood had always been a useful skill in the past. That was it though, wasn't it? The past._

_"What the hell do you think I'm doing here?" Dean snapped and Sam glanced over at him. Great, he had guessed right. Dean was definitely annoyed and a little pissed. This was going to be a fun conversation. "I'm here to find your sorry, useless, gigantor ass." Dean paused, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and his next sentence came out far whinier than he had probably intended, "Let's get out of here before I freeze. Next time, run away to Florida."_

_Sam didn't answer, watching his breath condense and disappear. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer. It was that he didn't know how to do so and not receive an unfavorable outcome. He wasn't sure there was such thing as a positive outcome in his life anymore. It certainly didn't seem like it. Everything he did came out completely wrong, no matter how hard he tried.__ Through his silence, he could feel Dean's annoyance deepen._

_"Stop being a bitch and c'mon, Sam," Dean sighed, exhausted and exasperated, the same way he sounded whenever thoughts of 'Why the hell am I even here?' crossed his mind. It was the voice he used when he was dealing with particularly unhelpful, unobservant witnesses. Sam wasn't sure he liked the comparison. Actually, Sam _knew_ he didn't like the comparison and gave up searching for the words that would keep this argument from spiraling out of control._

_"You can leave," Sam stated simply. "I didn't ask you to follow me and I sure as hell didn't want you to." It was true to some extent. He didn't ask Dean to follow him. Did he want him to? He wasn't going to analyze that question too closely because he wasn't sure he was going to be happy with the answer. At this point though, with Dean looking at him like he was, Sam realized that he'd rather have had Dean not follow him than come after him with this attitude._

_Sam heard Dean grumble under his breath and was more than positive he didn't want to know what his brother said. But unfortunately, the masochistic part of him had more control over his mouth than the part that valued self-preservation.__ "Go ahead, Dean. No need to mutter on my account." He stopped and turned towards his brother, facing the impending fight head on. He could feel the tension between them mounting and Dean suddenly seemed so much more dangerous than he ever had before. Sam was only twenty feet from his motel room door he realized, and it would be a shame if his big brother killed him when he was so close to safety. Ironic. Sad. Very sad because wasn't Dean supposed to be safe? Hadn't Dean always been safe?_

_Dean glared at him for several moments before huffing out a breath. "You know what I said? I said that I'm here because Dad made me promise to be, made me promise to look after you so many times that for most of my life, I was so confused I actually thought it was my idea. If it were up to me," he smirked, "you know I'd leave your ass out here until you sobered up and realized what a bitch you're being. But it's not. _It never was."

_Sam didn't recoil. He didn't let the hurt that was threatening to make his knees buckle do so. Because Dean was pissed. He was pissed but two could play that game. Sam was always better with anger anyway. Letting yourself feel _hurt_ did nothing but open you up for more. And Sam couldn't afford that. Not anymore. No matter how much he probably deserved it.__ So he let his wounds, the ones that had festered and spread throughout the course of his entire life, fuel his anger. Because feeling disappointment, feeling emotional pain didn't help. It only made things worse. It only let them know they had a hold over you and that was the one thing that you should never, under any circumstances, let them know.__ "You killed her, Dean!" he shouted. "You killed her when I asked you not to! Hell, I practically _begged_ you not to! You have no right to be pissed at me—"_

_"The bitch needed to die, Sam!" Dean growled back. "She was a monster—"_

_"She was killing to protect her only family! Hell, I sucked demon blood! If that's your cut off then I'm a monster too!"_

_"Damn right and if you ever show signs that you're headed back in that direction, I'll put a clip in you as well!"_

_Sam froze, stock-still and he was pretty sure he wasn't even breathing. What was the point of doing so anymore? He watched Dean's face, noting the exact moment he processed what he said. He didn't look guilty or sorry or anything that Sam felt he should. He just looked slightly embarrassed. Sam's anger faded and he no longer had the energy to fight back the hurt. He welcomed it, actually. He let it fill him because he deserved this weakness. He deserved to know that there was someone that could tear his heart out, murder him without even having to touch him. He deserved the pain because really, nothing could hurt worse. And if Dean felt that way, then he really should still be in Hell. Because he was_ Dean_ and Dean was the one person that always believed in him. And if that one person couldn't believe anymore, even after everything he had done to try and make up for it, then... didn't he deserve that hurt?__ He swallowed thickly, trying to stave off the tears he could feel threatening to break through._

_"I was being good here," he said quietly, as calmly as he could. That apparently wasn't very calmly because he heard his voice crack. "I left. It was you're decision to come after me—" Dean scoffed and Sam felt the ache in his chest grow impossibly deeper. He bit his lip, nodding his head and staring at the concrete. "Just go, Dean," he whispered. "Get the hell out of here."_

_With that, he turned away from his brother - the person who used to be his best friend -__ and all but ran to his motel room. Dean didn't follow him and Sam wasn't sure if he felt relieved or if it just made him hurt all the worse._

* * *

><p>Dean sat up sharply in bed, glancing frantically around the room. His eyes didn't land on anything because the one thing he was looking for <em>wasn't there<em>. He almost called Sam's name but then everything that had happened came crashing down around him. He hadn't seen Sam in _days_. Sam was _lost_. Kidnapped or worse... Angel banishing sigil… There was a damn _angel banishing sigil_ in _Sam's_ (stolen) _car! _An angel banishing sigil that apparently didn't work because Sam was _gone._ And Sam wasn't supposed to be gone. Dean was supposed to be there to make sure Sam didn't go anywhere. But Dean hadn't been there. And Sam's blood was all over a car abandoned on the side of the highway. But Sam was okay. He was alive. This is what Dean kept telling himself. There was no body and until there was, in his mind, Sam was alive and would be fine. He was just waiting for Dean to find him.

Groaning, he started pounding on his forehead with his fists, wondering if he could drive a hole through his head and pull out whatever part of his brain it was that enabled the existence of nightmares. Because really? It wasn't like he'd miss that part anyway.

Unfortunately, his drill was nowhere near him and the last scene of his dream kept playing itself in his head over and over and over again. And then over again a few more times just for the fun of it. Who's fun, he had no idea because it certainly wasn't his. The vision was making his stomach twist in uncomfortable knots. It also made his throat close up to the point that it hurt.

Dean's dream was laid out just like all the one's he'd had while Sam was in Hell. He saw them through Sam's eyes, like he was _Sam_. He hadn't had any since Sam had gotten out or more specifically, since Sam's _soul_ had gotten out and honestly, he had liked it that way. They were always intense, way more so than he felt a dream should be. They were so intense that he had woken up multiple times in Lisa's house to find himself sobbing. And then he couldn't stop because the dream would replay _over_ and _over_ and _over_ again.

The dream he had just had was different only in the sense that it wasn't Hell. Though in reality, it might as well have been. He saw himself which was more than a little disturbing. Sure, he was kind of used to it by now. He had seen shape-shifters and demons and everything else turn into him. It didn't make it any easier to deal with when he watched himself say things to his brother crafted specifically to tear said-brother's heart out. And the worst part of it was that he could _feel_ everything that Sam did. For all intents and purposes, he _was_ _Sam_. He even shared his thoughts. Which meant he knew exactly what Sam had been thinking, knew exactly how hurt he was.

It was a dream. Dean kept telling himself this over and over again. It was a dream. A very _lucid_ dream but nonetheless, still a dream. _Thank god_. He thought that, knew it was true, but none of his reassurances made the twisting feeling in his gut go away, didn't make the need to see his little brother _right now _recede in the least. But he couldn't see his little brother because said-little brother had been potentially hijacked by angels and could be—

No. No no no no no no _no_.

_No_.

Sam was _fine_. Dammit. He had almost broken one of his own rules. He did not even _think_ the _D_ word in connection with _Sam_. He just _didn't_. Because yes, denying something really did make it so, at least in your mind. And that existed until something came and denied your denial at which point your web of lies would come crashing to the ground. At this point though, Dean was fine with that because no matter how much evidence was stacked to the contrary, he wouldn't accept that Sam was... _dead_ because he couldn't be. He just couldn't.

He rolled his shoulders back, feeling anxious and jittery, like he was high on caffeine and was incapable of sitting still for longer than three seconds. The only reason he had fallen asleep at all was that Bobby had drugged him. Something he'd have to remember to be pissed about in the morning. Bobby was snoring - _loudly_ - asleep in the next bed over so being pissed at him now wasn't really going to do anyone any good. He needed to wait to be pissed until he could let out said-pissiness on someone.

Clearing his throat and beating down his thoughts, he stumbled out of bed, crashing into a chair and opening the laptop. He wasn't going to fall back asleep now because - duh - Bobby wasn't awake to drug him. He figured he might as well get some work done. What work that was going to be, he had no idea. He and Bobby had been searching for further leads for the last several days but the trail had either run cold or had never been there at all. Dean was betting on the latter. So really, they hadn't gotten anywhere with finding Sam and to Dean, after this many days, that was completely and totally unacceptable. So, he decided to try and see if he could figure out the answer to any of the many questions they had.

For example, what angel would attack and kidnap Sam? And why? What purpose did it serve except to make Dean want to eat his gun?

None from what he could find. They obviously had some reason. Angels didn't tend to beam down from Heaven and grab random people. If they did, they were generally much quieter about it. The reason? Dean had no idea. He and Sam hadn't had any interaction with any heavenly being in months. They really hadn't had any significant reaction with many since Sam had averted the apocalypse. At least none that would warrant Sam's disappearance.

He scrolled through news articles from areas near where Sam was taken. There wasn't much around there, just a lot of towns that might as well have not been built. Sam had disappeared days ago. The chances that he was still in the vicinity of said-disappearance were slim to none. And there was no news of the weird anywhere around there. Well, other than the mysterious car by the side of the highway but Dean already knew everything he needed to about that. So he did a nationwide search, looking for any other strange, angel-banishing-like sigils carved into anything, other blood-spattered cars, signs of an angel at _all_, _something_ tied to Sam's disappearance.

It was a wide search and he knew that the chances of finding anything relevant were pretty nonexistent. He couldn't really type 'Little brothers snatched by angels' into the search bar and come up with anything. If Sam were here, he would have known exactly what to type in, would have found something in less than an hour, would have given them a direction to head. But if Sam were here, they wouldn't need to be looking for this at all.

When he did find Sam, they were going to take a nice long break from hunting, leviathans be damned. They were going to go to the Grand Canyon. They were going to actually take that cross-country trip that had served as their cover story for the majority of their lives. Sure, they had been a lot of places but they had never really _seen_ them. And once Sam came back, they were going to travel from one coast to the other and see _everything_. Hell, he'd even find the country's biggest library and make sure Sam got there.

Scrolling through the searches, a blog that was updated just a few minutes previously caught his eye. Apparently, the blog's writer went around this town in Maine and recorded particularly interesting cases of vandalism. The last thing posted focused on some graffiti that had appeared the night before all over the back of a motel. There was a picture of it too and when he looked at it, confusion attempted to short out his brain. It hadn't been functioning all that well in the first place and he felt like he needed it to be to figure out what it was that this picture was trying to tell him. Because it was definitely trying to tell him something, something important, but he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

The picture was of a brick wall, the light from a _Night Owl_ motel sign just visible over the top of the building. Drawn all over the bricks were angel banishing sigils, tons of them, all in a row. Based on where they were located, the person drew one and just moved down the wall, copying one after another all the way across it. As he looked, he realized the drawings got shakier and shakier from left to right, circles becoming lopsided and uneven, lines smearing and running.

"What the hell…" Dean muttered to himself, scrolling through the multitude of pictures the guy had posted. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all.

But it was a lead.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay! Another chapter up!<strong>

**By the way, I'm going to start responding to reviews next chapter. Sorry that I haven't been doing so to this point. I'm still trying to get a handle on this whole thing. :-)**


	6. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

_Again, thanks to any and everyone that read, reviewed, story-alerted, story-favorited, etc!_

* * *

><p>Dean had woken Bobby up and was at the town a couple of hours later. The wall was exactly like the pictures on the website. Just now he saw what the blogger had left out: it was all blood. Every single sigil was painted in <em>blood<em> along the wall. And that was a lot of blood. A _hell_ of a lot of blood. So needless to say, they had looked around and gotten out of there as quickly as possible. Because honestly, it was giving Dean mental images he didn't need.

"What's going on, Bobby?" Dean asked, dropping his useless cell phone on the bed. He had hoped coming here would help, give him some kind of lead to Sam. Did it? No. Not really. All it gave him was fifty more questions and no answers. Another attack? It was possible. But that meant whatever this thing was must have been targeting hunters. No one else would know the angel banishing sigil. Not that said-sigil did them any good, he thought wryly. Not that it did _Sam_ any good.

"I mean, first Sam disappears with angel sigils carved into his freaking car and now this?" Dean stood, pacing back and forth, running his hand through his short hair. Bobby was sitting at the table, surfing the internet for something, _anything_. He was just as desperate as Dean was because yeah, it had been days and they were absolutely no closer to finding Sam than they were back when he first disappeared. "What idiot would draw that many symbols? And _why_? And I mean, what angel is even freakin' left_!_? Didn't Cas kill like, all of them?" Sighing, Dean sank into the chair across from Bobby, staring out the window. "And where is Sammy?" he finished quietly.

He stared at the parking lot as if it would give him all the answers. And he really wished it would because then he would _know_and he'd find Sam and bring him home - not that they really had one. He wished concrete was all-knowing. You know how much trouble that would have saved him? Though, if the answers were bad, then maybe he didn't want the parking lot to tell him. He would rather search for the rest of his life than believe that Sam was dead. _Again_. Because he couldn't be. Simple as that.

Dean sighed in disappointment before turning back to the table, looking at the pictures they had taken of all the sigils. He just stared at them, barely seeing. He didn't know what he was looking for and that tended to make it difficult to find. The image started to swirl, becoming a red blob and he realized that he hadn't blinked. He supposed he should do that...

But that was when his phone rang.

Dean lunged for the bed, nearly braining himself on the corner of the table. Instead, he caught his thigh on it hard enough that it would most likely bruise spectacularly. It hurt, he vaguely realized, but it could all be worth it depending on who was on the other end of the phone. Frantically, he fumbled to get the device the right way around, flipping it open.

"Sammy_!_?" he demanded, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. He was silently begging a very absent God that hadn't listened to anything he asked about Sam in the past to _let it be Sam_ and to let him be okay. It was quiet for a moment and he was about to call out again when a distinctly _not_-Sam voice came over the line. And didn't that just suck? As a result, Dean decided that _this_voice was definitely not worth the injury. Especially not when the adrenaline was replaced with disappointment and his leg started to ache. He'd had worse obviously. But was this injury for a good cause? Nope.

_"Dean? Dean Winchester?"_ a woman asked. She sounded upset. Pulling his phone away from his ear, he looked at the caller-id and determined that it wasn't Sam's phone that had called him. Damn it. He should really work on checking that _before_ he answered the phone from now on. Though, it could have been Sam calling from another phone so it didn't really matter if he'd checked the ID or not; he would have answered anyway.

"Who is this?" he snapped. This person had allowed him to get his hopes up that his brother was calling him. This person was _not Sam_. Therefore, this person needed to hang up right now or be exposed to a very pissed off Dean Winchester.

There was a brief pause, almost as if the woman was debating whether or not to tell him. "Kathleen." Dean sighed, sinking down onto the bed. She should have debated longer and come to the opposite conclusion. Hadn't she already caused enough trouble? Sam was _gone_, Sam was _missing_, largely because of her. And yes, Dean heard the little voice in the back of his head that informed him he couldn't blame her because it was his fault. And yes, Dean was ignoring said-little voice. He was about to tell her to go piss off when she started talking again._"I know you're angry. I can feel it over the phone which is pretty astounding. Great job there, but uh… You need to get Sam here. Now."_

Dean stood up, suddenly on red alert. "Why? What's going on?" He moved over to Bobby, placing the phone on speaker and setting it on the table. Bobby looked just as confused as he was which was kind of disappointing. It was Bobby's psychic. Shouldn't he be able to tell Dean why it was he needed to get his _missing_ little brother to her house? Still, even if he did know where Sam was, barring life-threatening circumstances, it was very unlikely they'd be going back there on their own freewill.

_"Look I uh… can't explain right now. You just need to get him here. Stop arguing with me and get him to my house."_

"You know, I'd love to. You have any frickin' idea where my brother_is?"_ he demanded because yeah, this whole thing was at least partially her fault and yeah, he was pissed at her. If she had kept her big mouth shut, Sam would be here. With him. Where he was supposed to be, where Dean could watch out for him. But she didn't keep her big mouth shut and here they were.

_"Uh… I uh… um…"_ That was when Dean's phone beeped, signaling he had another call. Looking over suspiciously at Bobby, he picked up his phone and froze when he read the caller-id. At that moment, everything else faded away, including the nonsensical babbling of the psychic.

Taking the phone off speaker he said a clipped, "Call ya back," and hit the talk button. "Sammy?" he half-pleaded, listening closely for his brother's voice. He half-wondered if he should thank God because maybe, for once, he had given in to his pleading. That thought melted away though when there wasn't an answer. Someone was breathing he was pretty sure, though that could have just been wind. But again, someone had to dial the number right? Someone had Sam's phone and it had better be Sam. "Sam?" he asked again.

It was silent for another moment and Dean was just about to go postal on whoever this was. But that was when the small voice came over the line,_"Dean."_ Dean sagged in relief, his knees nearly giving way. His brother was _alive_. _Sam was alive_. Not that Dean had ever doubted that, not for one instant, because Sam wasn't _allowed_ to be dead. But once the reassurance came, it made the metal brace that had surrounded his heart the last couple days release.

"Oh god," he sighed, sinking down onto the edge of the bed and scrubbing his free hand down his face. "Don't you ever—"

_"Dean?"_ Sam's voice came again, whispered and pained and Dean instantly knew that something was wrong. Very _very_ wrong. Dean took back the thanks he had sent upward because he had asked for Sam to be _okay_. Sam was obviously _not_ okay and the metal brace refit itself around his chest.

"Sammy, what's wrong? Where are you?" Dean stood up, starting to pace. He didn't even realize he was doing it. It was just that it wasn't in his nature to sit and do nothing when his brother was in trouble. Because he could literally _feel_ that Sam was in trouble, that he needed help.

"Dean? What is it?" Bobby asked, starting to stand up. Dean just shook his head, mouthing that he had no idea. It was bad, he knew that but until Sam told him, he wouldn't know _how_ bad.

"What's wrong? Sam, where are you?" Dean repeated because they needed to start somewhere. And those were the basics, right? Generally easy questions to answer.

There was another long pause and then a shaky, _"I- I don't know,"_ came over the line. Dean froze in place, shooting a glance at Bobby who was watching him avidly, trying to figure out what was going on. What did that even mean? He didn't _know_? Sam was _there_. Sam was just on the other end of the phone and Dean wished they had invented the technology that would allow him to reach through and pull his brother out. They hadn't though and he was practically vibrating with the need to do _something_. But he hadn't been given a direction yet and he was practically locked in place.

"What do you mean you don't _know_? What's going on, Sam?" he demanded, voice coming out far harsher than he had intended but he was starting to panic here. Sam was supposed to _know_. If he was semi-lucid he _would_ know. And that was scaring him.

_"I- I don't-"_ Dean's heart broke when Sam let out a choked sob. _"It_hurts_, Dean."_

Dean ran his hand through his hair. His pacing had shortened to about half its previous distance, shortened to the point where he was taking a step in each direction before turning around. He didn't have the attention span or the patience for more. "Okay. Okay, it's okay, Sammy. Just tell me what's going on," Dean said, using the same voice as when he used to talk Sam down from his nightmares. It was in direct contrast to what he was feeling and he was surprised he had managed to do it at all. When he panicked, he yelled, barked orders, like their Dad. But Sam didn't need that, not now.

There was another long pause and another choked sob before a quiet, _"I don't know,"_reached Dean's ears.

"What do you _mean you don't know!_?" Dean demanded, losing the calm he had forced on himself moments before. Sam was hurt, could be _dying_ for all he knew, and Sam couldn't tell him where the hell he was. Dean was too close this time. He had Sam _on the phone_. He was _right there_. He'd be damned if he didn't find him now.

_"Dean. I- I think-"_ A horrible retching sound interrupted Sam's words and Dean half-wondered how much harder he could squeeze his phone before it broke. His knuckles were already white. He forced himself to relax because yeah, breaking the phone wouldn't do anyone any good. _"I think I need you…"_

Dean swallowed thickly, the quiet admission settling in his chest and making him ache. He felt his own eyes fill with tears because Sam wasn't okay and _Sam_ needed his big brother and said-big brother had no idea where said-Sam was. "Okay," Dean said quietly, moving to the other side of the room. He didn't really think about why. He just knew he needed to be alone so he moved as far away from Bobby as he could get. It had always been that way though. When Sam was hurt or in trouble, it was Dean's responsibility. "Okay, Sammy. I'm gonna be there. I'm leaving right now but you gotta tell me where you are. Just calm down… Deep breaths and tell me what's around you. Do you see any street signs? Anything?"

There was a quiet choking noise on Sam's end before Sam started speaking again, _"Um… there's a uh…_god_Dean…"_ Sam broke off with a whimper of pain, making Dean flinch. He looked to Bobby who was already packing up. Dean hoped to god that Sam wasn't that far. And he realized with a physical jolt that things were so much worse than he had imagined. He was dying. He could hear it in Sam's voice. _Sam was dying_ and there was nothing he could do about it except listen and obviously, that wasn't nearly enough.

"Shhh, Sammy," he said quietly, relying on every big brother instinct he had to try and get Sam to focus on his voice. "Just me, Sam. Just focus on my voice. I'm right here, little brother. You're not alone. Just look around you. Open your eyes and tell me what you see."

Sam coughed then said quietly, _"Um… Fifth and Landon… Alleyway… Dumpsters… Maine… I… I uh… I- I- don't… GPS... I can... can turn it..."_ There was another retching sound and Dean felt one of the tears he had been fighting escape down his cheek as he started towards the door, not really caring that he still didn't have a direction to go.

He looked at Bobby who was watching him with wide-eyes, aware that something was very, very wrong even if he couldn't hear it himself. "GPS," Dean repeated, looking at Bobby pointedly who flipped open the laptop, hopefully locating Sam's phone. That was when Dean realized that they really had no idea where he was. He could be halfway across the state at which point Dean would get there just in time to identify Sam's body.

That couldn't happen. He would get on a _plane_ if he had to. Hell, he would frickin' fly the thing _himself_ if it would get him there faster. Not that it would because of the logistical issues but that wasn't the point.

"Dean!" Bobby called, looking at him with a strange combination of relief and concern. "He's here. He's in this town." He quickly gave Dean directions and Dean was peeling out of the motel parking lot less than an instant later. The squeal of tires went ignored as he pulled onto the main road, not even thinking about his car at that moment. He was pretty sure that was a first.

"Sammy? Still with me, kid?" he asked, turning right. Five more turns. Five more blocks and he'd be there. He'd be there and Sam would be _fine_. But his mind ignored his reassurances focusing on how _un_fine Sam sounded. Because he wasn't fine. And Dean, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, knew that.

_"De—"_ Another retching sound tore its way out of Sam's throat and Dean pressed harder on the pedal, speeding through a debatable yellow light. At this moment, in Dean's narrowed world, red meant speed up. He wasn't sure how fast he was going because he didn't bother to look but it definitely wasn't anywhere within the range of the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by a cop. Not that he _would_ because to be pulled over by a cop you'd actually have to pull over, something he wasn't going to do until he got to Sam.

"Stay with me," Dean ordered. "Do _not_go to sleep, Sam!"

_"Won't,"_ Sam promised quietly. _"Can't sleep… He comes… He's… no sleep…"_

Dean didn't know what Sam was talking about but then, it was something to keep him talking and if he was talking, he was awake, which meant he was _alive_. "Who comes, Sammy?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, a task far easier said than done when his hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped his cell phone.

_"He's… T-"_ Another cough tore its way out of Sam's throat. _"There's them… Can't sleep 'cuz they come… Can't… Won't let me…"_

"_Sam_!" Dean barked, slamming his fist against the car's steering wheel and promising himself he'd apologize later. "Stay awake!"

_"Not… Not gunna… Fall 'sleep 'cuz he_comes_…_Dean_… Don' wanna… Fall—"_ A harsh hacking, gagging, choking cough came through the phone line and it didn't stop. Dean shouted Sam's name, multiple times as he listened to his brother fight to breathe, fight for his life. And this time, it was a fight Dean was too late for, seconds too late for.

"_Sammy!_" he shouted again, pulling up at the curb and jumping from the car, not even bothering to turn the engine off.

"_Need- De-_"

And then the phone went quiet.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Cliffhangers! Aren't they fun?_


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: Because this chapter is so short, I decided to post it a little early. It was such a perfect time to cut it off that I couldn't resist._

_Thank you again to everyone who left comments, story alerted, story favorited, etc.! All responses to reviews will be at the end of the chapter this time. It makes more sense that way, doesn't it?_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>Dean barreled down the streets, vaguely noting Bobby pulling up and following after him. Alleyway. Sam had said he was in an alleyway. Alleyway, alleyway, alleyway, alleyway... There. Right there. Only one. One with Sammy in it. Only one and Sam had <em>better<em> be in it because Dean knew that there was no time for mistakes. Not when Sam wasn't answering him anymore.

Dean ran, faster than he probably ever had before, hardly allowing himself to breathe. Sam may not be breathing, so why was he? It shouldn't work that way. If Sam wasn't breathing, Dean shouldn't be either. But Sam had to be breathing. He had to be breathing because Dean was breathing and as long as Dean was breathing, Sam was going to be too. It was that simple.

He had screwed up. He had screwed up big time. And Sam was hurt. And Sam _wasn't answering him_.

"_Sam!_" he shouted, running down the passage. "_Sammy!_?"

"_Sammy!_?" he called once more but then froze when he heard a struggled breath. It was so quiet that over his own panting and the ringing that seemed to echo in his ears, he shouldn't have been able to hear it. But then, Dean had always been able to hear Sam. He was hardwired to hear Sam. He could hear him sneeze in the middle of an explosion. Then the strong coppery tang of blood assaulted his senses. And it was too strong for it to be any normal, safe, _fixable_ amount of blood. His gaze darted around until it landed on a person. Until it landed on _Sam_. He was lying, curled in on himself on the dirty ground, half-hidden behind a dumpster. Unconscious. The cell phone that Dean's panicking voice had come through moments before was lying open next to his head.

"Oh _god_,_Sam_," he breathed, dropping to his knees next to his brother. His hands hovered over Sam's body, not quite willing to touch for fear contact would make it real. It was a hallucination, a dream, it was _something_ that would mean this wasn't Sam, wasn't _Dean's_ _Sam_. Because it couldn't be. The world couldn't hate him that much... could it?

"Oh shit—" Bobby breathed as his eyes landed on Sam and Dean felt the crushing weight of reality fall on him. Because Bobby was there. And Bobby just unwittingly yanked him out of his momentary denial.

"Sam—Sammy—" Dean breathed, words as broken sounding as he felt, as broken as _Sam_ was. Sam was shaking violently, air not filling his _shredded_ lungs and Dean found himself morbidly wondering if it was a lack of air reaching his lungs, or a lack of air _staying_ in his lungs. Neither was good. Neither was going to keep his brother alive.

He reached out, throat closing up as he rested his hand on his brother's shoulder. He instantly snatched it away though, staring at the blood that now covered it. Biting his lip, both to keep from vomiting and to keep from sobbing, he forced himself to look, to assess the damage completely. Sam's chest and arms were filleted, entire segments of skin missing, like they were ripped off. Slashes littered Sam's stomach and there was so much _blood_. It was pooled around Sam and splattered across the wall and dumpster. _So much blood. Too much blood_.

Dean had seen a lot of death. He had seen a lot of _violent_ deaths. But this was one of the worst things he had ever seen. Though, that may have simply been because it was _Sam_.

"_Sammy_," he whimpered, hand landing on his brother's cheek, sliding down to his neck, desperately searching for a pulse. It took seconds. It took seconds too long, seconds they didn't have, seconds Sam didn't have but he found one. Weak and thready, but it was there. If it was there, Dean could deal with it. He always did; he always would. Sam would be fine. He wouldn't find his brother after days of searching only to have him die right next to him. A tear slid down his cheek but he made no move to wipe it away, didn't even acknowledge its existence.

"Okay… okay… C'mon sasquatch…" There was too much blood. Way too much. There was no way they'd be able to fix this on their own. That left only one option. "Bobby, call for an ambulance," he ordered. He heard Bobby's mutter of acquiescence but his attention was once again fixed solely on his brother. The brother that was way too still, way too unresponsive.

"Sammy…" he whispered, tapping his brother's cheek. "_Sammy_! Wake up!" There was no response but that didn't stop Dean. Sam was _supposed_ to wake up. Sam wasn't supposed to be lying, bloody and broken, hidden behind a dumpster in a dirty alley. It wasn't supposed to be like this. "C'mon, Sam!" he growled, shaking him. It couldn't have felt good, not with all the injuries he had. Moving at _all_ couldn't feel good. And in response, Sam's face twisted up in confusion and pain. "That's it! Wake up, kid…"

And of course, Dean's relief was small and short-lived because that was when a harsh choked sob tore its way out from Sam's already worn out vocal chords. "N-no… please… can't… _hurts_… Dean!_Dean, don't…!_ Please…?" And again, Dean had no idea what Sam was talking about. He should though because he should have been with Sam the last few days. If they had been together, this never would have happened. Because Dean wouldn't have let it. That didn't make anything better though, did it? Because Dean did let it.

"Sam—" He was cut off as Sam's back bowed up off the ground. He started seizing, silently screaming in fear? in agony? Dean had no idea and it didn't make any difference, not when it came down to it. "Bobby! Where's the ambulance!" he barked, pressing down on his brother's shoulders, trying to keep him from hurting himself. Well, hurting himself any worse than he already was. Sam started thrashing as if trying to buck off an imaginary attacker, gasping Dean's name every now and then with a broken plea, all while Dean tried to ignore the blood that covered his hands, tried to ignore the fact that nothing he was doing, nothing he ever did was enough.

And then it all stopped.

Dean froze, hardly processing that Sam wasn't moving anymore. And when he did, his heart might as well have stopped beating because as he scrabbled at Sam's neck, searching numbly for a pulse, _Sam's_ heart _had_ stopped beating. Sam's heart had stopped beating. And the entire world came to a crashing halt. "_No!_" Dean shouted, forgetting to hold back the tears that had been building behind his eyes since Sam disappeared. "You don't get to do this to me!" After that, he was barely aware of what he was doing. He had vague memories of himself employing every life-saving, resuscitating measure that he had ever learned. But it all ended with him simply shoving and pounding at Sam's chest, demanding that he come back. And then arms were wrapping around his arms and chest, dragging him back away from his brother's prone body. He was vaguely aware he was screaming Sam's name but everything else had just faded away in the wake of his unnaturally still little brother.

"_Sammy!_" he screamed, lunging forwards because Sam was _dead_. Dean had just found him and _he had died right there,_ underneath Dean's hands.

Whoever was holding him – later he'd realize that it was Bobby – was surprised by the force that resulted when he threw himself, all of his weight, all of his grief, against their arms. Their surprise allowed him to slip out of the restraining grasp and he found himself scrabbling with numb hands at the ground so that he didn't crash against it. On his hands and knees in the dirty alleyway, he crawled to his brother's side, tears streaming down his face. "Sammy?" he whimpered, throat raw from the number of times he had screamed. Gently, he placed his hand on Sam's chest, begging an absent God for it to rise and fall. But God never listened to him, did he? After all the times he'd asked, all the times he'd begged and pleaded and sobbed and prayed for Sam to be okay over the years, never once was he answered. Never once was he given a sign that anything in the horrible, screwed-up, selfish world they lived in gave a damn about Sam and Dean Winchester. Not once.

And for one moment it was completely quiet, nothing but him and his dead little brother.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: __Again, thank you to everyone who reads this story and I'll see you... soon. :-)_


	8. Chapter 7

_A/N: To make up for the last, really short chapter and the fact that this is late, this chapter is exceptionally longer. :-)_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>Dean had never hated the world as much as he did in that moment. And he really did. He <em>hated<em> it. After everything they had done, everything _he_ had done, this is what he got? He got to watch his brother die over and over and over again. And this time, there was no Cas or God or destiny to bring him back. There was nothing and no one.

Dean turned all his focus to where his hand was holding onto Sam's shirt, bunching and unbunching in the shredded fabric. It was his last point of contact and he wouldn't let go, as if his holding on would make Sam do the same. But he could feel it. He could feel the coldness that was overtaking Sam's body, he could feel the frozen stillness that only surrounded those that were gone.

He felt something wet hit his hand and it wasn't until then that he realized there were tears streaming down his face, realized that he was babbling his brother's name over and over again. He didn't stop it though because that would take conscious thought and his conscious thoughts were tied up in "_Please_" and "_Don't do this_" and "_Give him back!"_

Was Sam even aware enough to know Dean was there? That he had been there or was Sam's last memory of himself lying alone and dying behind a dumpster in an abandoned alleyway? And that thought did nothing but make the situation worse. Sam called and asked for help. He called for _Dean_ because he was hurt and alone and Dean was the one he always called, was the one he was supposed to call. But then, Sam was never supposed to be alone in the first place. Dean was supposed to be there. _Always_. But Dean wasn't. Dean had taken too long to find him, hadn't been fast enough. And now Sam was dead.

"Dean—" Bobby began but Dean didn't want to hear it. Bobby knew him, knew _them_, so Dean wasn't even sure why he was bothering. And yes, Bobby was hurting too. Dean knew that. But this was _Sam_and Sam was _gone_ and Dean couldn't deal with anyone else, wouldn't be able to ever.

"Don't," he whispered, cutting him off. "Just… _don't_…" He was going to die. He was going to lie down next to his brother and die. Right there. And that was the best idea he could come up with. The fact that it actually sounded appealing wasn't at all worrisome, just expected. He wondered where Sam was, hoping more than anything that he was in the heaven they shared so that Dean wouldn't be lying down and condemning himself to an eternity alone again.

And then Sam's body jolted, seizing, gasping, _living,_ and Dean's thoughts fled him. He watched as Sam's eyes flew open, pulling air into starved lungs. The world froze and all Dean could think was "_Thank you."_ He wasn't even sure who he was thanking, God or luck or just the strange, absolutely, positively, newly wonderful universe. But to whomever it may concern, the thought was out there. He knew he had just been bought time, time to get the ambulance there and get Sam help. But it was time which was more than they had moments before.

"Thank god, Sam," Dean whispered, resting his hand gently on Sam's chest, rubbing circles onto his sternum. It was a reflex, even after all these years. He used to do that for a terrified mini-Sam, the one that crawled into his bed at night when the nightmares got to be too much. It would always calm him down, force him to _breathe_. And yeah, it was sappy and chick-flicky that he was doing it now when Sam hadn't needed him to for almost twenty years but this had been too close. _Way_ too close. It had been past close and into _beyond_. And he felt he deserved the chick-flickiness.

"Where's the ambulance?" he muttered mostly to himself. Just because Sam was alive didn't mean that anything had changed. It didn't mean that the wounds were gone. It just meant they were going to be able to fix him. That was what it meant...

Sam turned confused eyes up to him, chest heaving in air. "Dean?" he asked, head tipping to the side as he tried to work out what Dean was doing there. Dean could understand his disorientation. Hell, who knew how much Sam remembered. He had been _dead_. That was bound to do things to your short-term memory. But his eyes were lucid which Dean took as a good sign. He was a little confused as to _why_ and _how_ his eyes were so lucid when he'd been catatonic moments before but he wasn't going to question it.

"Shhh... Help's coming, Sammy. You're gonna be fine." He glanced over to the road and found it empty, completely still. And there were no sirens cutting through the air. "Damn it! Where's the ambulance_!_?" First chance he got, he was having a talk with whomever was in charge of said-ambulance about their emergency response time. Because it really sucked.

Dean turned back to find Sam's eyes narrowed, glancing around the area. "What're you talking about? Who needs an ambulance?" He paused for a moment before pushing up onto his elbows, ignoring Dean's protests. And there were a lot of them. Sam shouldn't have been talking or moving or doing anything other than trying not to bleed out and _die_. "Why are you even here?"

But Dean didn't even hear the question. He was just staring at Sam who was moving and talking and acting perfectly fine, like he hadn't had all the skin peeled off his bones, like his stomach wasn't sliced open, like he had working lungs. Lurching forward, Dean peeled open Sam's blood-soaked shirt, ignoring his brother's incredulous complaints. Staring, forehead wrinkling, he reached out, pawing at Sam's skin. Sam's _skin_. As in Sam's skin _on_ Sam's body.

"Dude!" Sam exclaimed, swatting at his hands. "Stop feeling me up!" But Dean just ignored him, pretty sure his jaw was hanging on the ground.

"What the—" Bobby was at his shoulder, staring at Sam's chest as well while Sam was looking increasingly freaked out. Though Dean couldn't really blame him. If a bunch of people started staring at his chest with rapt attention he'd be a little weirded out too. Especially if he didn't remember his insides being on his outside.

It was just… _gone_. The raw flesh, the slashes across Sam's stomach, _everything_. He was completely and totally healed, no sign there that he'd ever been hurt to that extent. And Dean's brain wasn't processing this at all. It was blank, thoughts stuttering and dying before they had even begun.

"What the hell_!_?" Sam demanded, swatting at Dean again. Finally getting his mouth to catch up with his brain which was _still_ trying to catch up, Dean was about to ask the same thing when sirens rang through the air.

They were going to have to cut the reunion short.

* * *

><p>Sam lay back on the motel room bed, hand covering his eyes. He wasn't feeling well but he didn't say anything, mostly because Dean had been on edge the entire way back, fingers twitching, gaze darting around. Hell, Sam wasn't even sure he should have been driving. He was far too stung out for that to be safe or at all smart.<p>

He had been filled in pretty quickly as to what had happened by Dean and Bobby, though Dean's side of the story was much less cohesive than Bobby's. It was chock full of expletives and wild hand gestures. A one-eyed horse with hearing issues could have figured out Dean was upset. But what Sam couldn't do was figure out _why_. From everything Sam had witnessed the last several days, his brother shouldn't have been _this_ upset. But Dean kept staring at him like he was going to disappear, kept staring at him like he didn't _want_ him to disappear. And that didn't make sense, didn't agree with everything Sam had been thinking. This Dean seemed really different than the Dean he had seen a few days before in the motel parking lot. This Dean kept watching him, wouldn't let him out of his sight for any longer than the time it took him to go to the bathroom. And if Sam didn't know any better, hadn't heard him that night outside of the motel, he would have thought Dean was worried about him. But that couldn't be right... could it?

His Deans weren't matching up and it was giving him a headache. Regardless though, Sam had to get out of there. He _had_ to. The instant Dean stopped watching him he'd make his escape because he wasn't supposed to be there. And his calling Dean had just screwed everything up.

That sentiment strengthened when he remembered what happened. As Dean and Bobby had talked – or rather, Bobby had talked and Dean had yelled – pieces of the event had started flooding back. So he remembered everything. And he really wished he didn't. _Really_ wished he didn't. Because he knew why he was in one piece instead of pieces.

Dean was currently on his cell phone, talking to Kathleen, the crazy psychic lady. Sam had gotten some of that story too. He knew that Kathleen had wanted to see him but he wasn't sure _he_wanted to see _her_. He was pretty sure she knew. And if she knew, she'd tell Dean. And that wouldn't be good. At all. The last thing they needed right now was for Dean to know. No. It was best for both of them if Dean was kept in the dark.

He listened closely to the one-sided conversation. Whatever she was saying was not putting his brother in any better of a mood. Though Sam hadn't really expected differently. He just _wished_ it was different. Dean hadn't smiled in… who knows how long. And Sam hated that he had a part in that. Multiple parts. And that was never supposed to happen. That was never his intention. But it had happened anyway and now his brother walked around with a haunted look on his face that hardly ever faded.

"What are we even talking about_!_?" Dean shouted, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. "You keep saying 'You must understand, you must understand' but what the hell am I supposed to be understanding_!_?"

Dean scoffed at something the woman said and Sam rolled over, facing the motel room wall. "Yeah, well, that's bullshit," Dean snapped and Sam traced patterns into the wallpaper with his eyes. He wasn't able to learn anything from what Dean was saying and it was incredibly annoying. He wanted to know what the woman wanted so he knew just how hard he should fight to go alone. Because if she _knew_ and that was what she wanted to talk about, then Dean couldn't be there. Because it was supposed to be _gone_. And Dean wasn't supposed to know because then Dean would look at him that _way_ again and he couldn't handle that. Especially not when he knew what Dean really thought. Knowing would only make it harder on Dean. And Sam's newly instated goal was to make it easier.

Sam glanced away from the wall just in time to see his brother's face twist into a snarl. "You know what, lady? I'm _not_ driving all the way over there! It's not happening. Go find yourself some other suckers to—"

Sam turned fully, paying more attention to Dean's body language now that he had stopped talking. Whatever she said had made Dean instantly sober, made his skin pale as he glanced over at Sam. Sam wasn't sure whether it was a conscious or subconscious glance but it was there nonetheless and said more than all of Dean's ranting and raving had.

"'kay," Dean breathed, all the fight gone from his voice. "We'll be there tonight." Sam sat up on his elbows, wanting to know what she said because Dean looked trapped, cornered. How much had she told him? She wouldn't tell him over the phone... Would she...? "Yeah," Dean sighed, running his hand through his hair. He ended the call and met Sam's eyes. And though Sam didn't like the look on his brother's face, he knew that Dean didn't know. If he did, he'd be freaking out and yelling and possibly dragging Sam off to the nearest panic room.

"Guess we're going to the crazy lady's," Dean tried to laugh, moving to pack up his stuff. His forced smile wasn't at all pulled off as his movements were sluggish and tired, like it was a chore to just exist. _This_ was part of why Sam had left. _This_ was what he did to his brother.

"Um... why? What does she want?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice as even and_un_-argumentative as possible.

Dean sighed, shoving clothes inside his duffle bag. "Uh… She needs to talk to you. I'm uh… she wouldn't tell me _why_ exactly but we have to go."

Sam scoffed because Dean saying they _had_ to do something because a crazy psychic told them to was ridiculous. Dean didn't listen to anyone he didn't trust, didn't deem reliable. Pain shot through him at that thought but he did his best to ignore it. "But _why_, Dean? When have we ever gone anywhere we didn't want to? What does she want to say that can't be said over the phone? What—"

"We just have to go, okay_!_?" Dean interrupted, stopping and narrowing his eyes at him. Sam felt himself subconsciously recoil and Dean flinched, opening his mouth to say something. Sam didn't want that though. If Dean said something, he'd start yelling again and then they'd have another fight like the one outside the motel in Maine. It's so much easier to live his life if he pretended that Dean really did give a shit about him. Even if his Deans didn't match up, even if this Dean seemed to care more about him than the other one, Dean wasn't going to do a full one-eighty. There was a catch there somewhere. Sam knew there had to be so he was going to try and stay as far away from it from as long as he could. Because again, it was so much easier for him to live with _this_ Dean than the one he had talked to in the parking lot.

"Look, Dean," Sam said quickly, sitting up, "you stay here, take over that case I was gonna work. I'll head over to the crazy lady's and see what she wants."

Dean was staring at him, jaw hanging, and if he wasn't mistaken, Sam was pretty sure he had seen a flash of hurt in his older brother's eyes. Damn. Sam was really bad at predicting his brother anymore. He kept second guessing everything he did. His instinct had told him to shut up, told him that Dean would see right through him, told him that Dean wouldn't like that he was trying to get rid of him. His brain had told him that he was giving Dean an out. His brain told him that Dean would be relieved. And he wasn't sure he trusted his instincts anymore, not after all the trouble they had gotten him into. But Dean clearly wasn't happy and Sam was confused.

"So, what? You're just gonna take off again?" Dean asked quietly, looking down into his bag. "Leave me to work the case? You really think I was gonna go for that, Sam?" And yeah, honestly he did. It logically made sense. Dean should have gone for it. He should get out. It was better for both of them if he'd just _get out._

Sam stood, not willing to give in so easily. He could take care of himself with Kathleen. That wasn't the issue. The issue was Dean _finding out_ and that meant that he and Dean couldn't be together for lengthy periods of time because he wouldn't be able to hide it. Which meant Dean couldn't go. "Yeah, why not? It's me she needs to talk to. Not you. You don't have to go, Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed at him and Sam sat ready, waiting for the backlash that was sure to come. But it didn't come. And this just confused Sam even more. Dean should have been yelling at him, telling him what a terrible person he was. That was what the Dean he had left in the parking lot would have done. "Don't be stupid, Sam. Of course I have to go," he said, turning back to his packing. Sam wasn't sure how he felt about that response, whether better or worse for it. In the end, he decided not to analyze it. He just sighed, standing and slinging his pack over his shoulder.

"You don't, Dean. I have a car still. I'll just meet up with you when she's done." He heard Dean's exasperated breath accompany the sound of him slamming whatever he was about to pack back onto the bed. Sam was standing behind him, unable to see his face and he figured that was for the best. It was quiet for several moments and Sam knew Dean was fighting to keep from going off on him.

"No, Sam. We're going together." Sam thought he heard an unspoken "You'll listen to me because I'm your big brother," in Dean's tone of voice but he couldn't be sure. There was a thin line between that and the one he had heard so often recently, the "You'll listen to me because I know what I'm doing and you clearly don't." He liked the first one better but it was probably just wishful thinking that he had heard it.

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he said, walking out the door. Silently, he was freaking out. Dean was gonna know. Dean was _gonna know_. _Dean was gonna find out_ and if Dean found out, then Dean was going to look at him _like that_, and things were going to become even worse than they already were. He was going to be even more of a burden than he already was and he didn't want that.

He sunk down into the shotgun seat after throwing his bag in the back and froze. Sitting in the Impala was uncomfortable. He never thought he'd say that but it was true. It wasn't uncomfortable in the physical sense since the Impala might as well have been custom made to fit him. No. It was uncomfortable because he knew he shouldn't be sitting there. Because Dean didn't trust him. And he knew that was part of "the problem."

* * *

><p>Standing inside Kathleen's house, Sam shifted on his feet. He was tired but he didn't want to go to sleep. Sleep was bad, so very, very bad.<p>

Just being there made him antsy and he half-wondered if she was going to make him stay in the hallway again. He hoped not. He had a hard enough time sleeping as it was. Being made to sleep in the hallway wasn't going to make that any better.

The car ride was uncomfortable for multiple reasons. They had pulled up to Kathleen's house and Sam had thought that Dean _knew_ because Sam wasn't good at hiding things. And also because Dean had asked him if everything was okay. But in the end, Dean just shrugged it off, telling him to "Hurry his ass up." Sam supposed it was proof of what he had been saying all along. Dean had always known when something was wrong before, half the time without even having to be anywhere near him. And if he did know, then he didn't care.

"Okay, okay," Kathleen muttered, pacing in a circle in her hallway. "Rooms. Yes, I'll show you to your room…" She hurried away through the furthest door on the left wall. Sam would have to remember that. The multitude of doors kind of made him dizzy.

Sam glanced at Dean who shrugged. "Better follow her or we'll never get out of Wonderland." Sam silently agreed because again, who knew how many more doors there were in this place. If they didn't follow right after her, she would get too many doors ahead of them and they'd be lost. But instead of saying anything, he just moved after her.

Through that door was a long hallway, hardly enough room for one person to walk through comfortably. He'd hate to see what would happen if people were coming at each other in opposite directions. You couldn't turn around so you'd have to back out of the hallway like a car. At the end of it was another door which is where Sam guessed Kathleen disappeared through. At least he hoped so. Who knew how many secret doors she had on top of everything else.

Once reaching the room, he sighed, glad it was just a bedroom. No more doors. It was probably sad how relieved he was about that. Honestly though, he didn't think his nerves could take anymore. And besides, he was going to have a hard enough time remembering which door to go through in the main hallway. The room was nice for the most part. There were two queen size beds against the one wall with an end table in between them. There was a dresser on the opposite wall and a bathroom in the back of the room, the door next to Sam's bed.

"All right. I'll leave you two to get settled. Don't need to—Um…" She glanced at Sam warily, biting her lip. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I hope…" she added as an afterthought, leaving the room. Sam's eyes narrowed, decidedly not liking the sound of that. It sounded ominous and was probably not the best way to convince houseguests that you weren't going to murder them in their sleep.

"She _hopes_?" Sam demanded, staring after her. Well… he hoped so too. Dean shrugged, turning around and claiming the bed closest to the door. He seemed to be lost in thought, mind elsewhere. Sam wasn't sure that he'd be able to pull him out of whatever dark hole he'd fallen into no matter what he did. So Sam just grumbled under his breath about Kathleen and dumped his duffle onto the floor, not even thinking about the possibility of having to unpack. He hoped to god they wouldn't be there that long. He did make sure to stick a knife under his pillow though. Just in case.

Sam flopped back onto the bed, trying to ignore the pink flowered sheets. It was a nicer room than they got at most of the motels they stayed at so he wasn't going to complain. At least it was clean, no strange substances covering the pillow cases.

"I'll be right back," Dean interrupted, forgoing the unpacking as well. "I have to go talk to… yeah…" His words drifted off and Sam heard the sound of the door closing. Sighing in both relief and disappointment, Sam allowed himself to relax, sinking further into the mattress. It was nice and soft and comfortable and he wondered if he'd be able to actually sleep. He doubted it but hey, at least he'd be comfortable when he laid awake all night. Sam turned over on his stomach, curling up and hugging the pillow into his chest. He was _tired_though. Dying and coming back took a lot out of you. Add that to the fact he hadn't allowed himself to sleep in days and he was completely exhausted. Maybe he would be able to fall asleep for once...

Before he drifted off, the door opened and Dean's heavy footsteps echoed through the room.

* * *

><p>"Are you gonna tell me why it was so important we get here?" Dean asked, standing in the doorway of Kathleen's living room. The door had been open and from the looks of things, she had been expecting his arrival. She should have been. She had to have known he wasn't going to go to sleep with no idea what was going on. Especially not when what had brought them here was a threat on <em>Sam's life<em>. That was never going to fly.

She was sitting on the couch, biting her lip and staring at the coffee table. "I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" Dean scoffed. Yes, she most definitely should. He took threats on his little brother's life very seriously. And though it didn't seem to be her that was doing said-threatening of said-little brother's life, he would kind of like to know what was. Her exact words were "Get him here now or he'll be dead again before the morning." And yes, Dean took such comments very seriously, whether he trusted the person making them or not.

"Yeah, I think you probably should," he grumbled, moving to sit across from her in an armchair. He ran his hand over the chair's arm, absently wondering just how strong it was. He really needed to hit something. All of his pent up stress was going to release itself one way or another and he would rather it be on an inanimate object than someone's face. Unless that person deserved it.

"Your brother…" She stopped, glancing around the room. A strange look came over her face and she sat up, ramrod straight. "Something's wrong." Dean felt his blood run cold as she glanced towards the door, gaze darting over there as well. It was Sam. He knew it, could feel it deep in his chest.

When they had first arrived, he had felt the same thing. Sam had spaced out, getting this funny look on his face and Dean had _known_ there was something going on. He didn't press though because if there was something really wrong, Sam would have told him... right...? That argument seemed to increasingly weaken as he stood, knowing instinctively that something was off, the same way he always knew when something was off with his brother.

"Sammy_!_?" he called, storming out the door, towards the room they had been given. Kathleen was hot on his heels, muttering incoherently about how she should have talked to him sooner. And Dean had to agree with her. She really should have. If whatever was wrong could get to Sam in the two seconds they had been apart, then firstly, they shouldn't have been apart, and secondly, Kathleen _should have told them_. "Sam_!_?"

As he approached the door to their room, he heard voices on the other side. Two of them. Both of which he recognized.

"You're worthless—I _wasted_my life on you! Taking care of you, watching out for you… And look, you turned out to be a frickin' _monster_! You know how many people would still be alive if you hadn't been born? Hell, _Mom_ would still be alive if you hadn't been born—"

Dean burst through the door and froze.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! And also, because of the impending holiday, next week's chapter may be posted a little early, prior to the insanity._

_Again, thank you to all readers!_


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: Sorry about the delay. I know it won't make up for it but here's a slightly longer chapter._

_Please no pitchforks? :-)_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>You'd think he'd be used to stuff like this by now. He saw bizarre and disturbing things everyday. You'd think he'd be so desensitized that nothing would be able to faze him.<p>

And yet, here he was, standing stock-still while he forgot how to breathe.

It was _him_. And _him_ was staring right at… well… _him_… And yes, it took Dean's brain took several moments to work through that and then several more to work out how he could be over _there_ when he was very much right here_._

But any confusion, any emotion that wasn't directly related to his hunter/protect-Sam mode, vaporized when Sam whirled around, gaze darting back and forth between the two Deans. Because confusion wasn't something they had time for. Not when there was a _thing_ wearing _his face _and standing _right there_, much too close but at the same time, too far away. Too far away for him to do anything other than stare.

"Sam…" Dean started, but Sam's gaze kept flipping between them, clearly still trying to wrap his head around this development. And Dean couldn't really blame him. If he were Sam, he'd probably be even more confused than he already was. Because Sam didn't have the benefit of knowing that _that_ Dean was not actually Dean. And the real Dean had no idea - until he managed to stick a silver knife in the bastard - how to prove it to him. The major difficulty with that plan was that to be able to stick said-silver knife in said-bastard, he'd have to get near enough to said-bastard to do so. And that was a bit of an issue because Sam was standing right between them. "That's not me."

Sam turned to look at him fully, forehead wrinkled. "Dean..._!_?" The look in his eyes was hopeful and shocked, yet so broken. And Dean wondered how long he had looked like that. It wasn't new; he could see that. Sam had been broken for a while but did he break before, during, or after Hell? If Dean thought back, analyzed all of their interactions, he could probably pinpoint the instant that look appeared in his brother's face. He just wasn't sure he wanted to.

Other Dean smirked and real Dean had enough. He lunged for his duffel, hoping to god that there was an easy to find silver knife in there. Though, that assumed that this thing could be hurt by silver. If it was a shifter, it would be. But if it wasn't a shifter, if it was something else entirely, silver wouldn't hurt it and they'd be screwed. Especially if it turned out to be a leviathan.

But then the thing laughed. It _laughed_ and Dean froze because he recognized that laugh. Well, _obviously_ he recognized the laugh because _technically_ it was his. But then again, it wasn't his. There was a note to it, an emotion, _something_ that he recognized, something that shouldn't have been in his voice. It wasn't a cold laugh. It was actually the exact opposite yet somehow, it still managed to work a chill down Dean's spine that none of the ghosts, werewolves, or wendigos he fought ever had. "_C'mon_, Sammy," the Dean-imposter chided. "I'm bored. Entertain me." And then he disappeared. Out of thin air. He disappeared out of thin air. Shifters couldn't do that and from what Dean could tell, leviathans couldn't either. Which meant he had absolutely no idea what it was. He also had no idea where the damn thing _went_.

And then Sam collapsed and everything went to Hell. And not hell in the metaphorical sense. No. That would be way too easy.

Dean was by his brother's side instantly, watching in horror as a deep slash appeared across Sam's stomach. And Dean was trained for stuff like this. He wasn't supposed to freeze, not after everything he'd been through. But Sam whimpering his name over and over again because he couldn't find enough air to scream and that's what Dean did. He froze for longer than his brother had and when he finally managed to tear himself from his terror-induced stupor, Sam had curled onto his side, arm wrapped around his stomach. "What the hell is happening_!_?" he finally demanded because Kathleen knew what was happening. Dean knew she did. This was why she brought them there in the first place_._

"I-" She didn't finish whatever she was thinking, just dropped to her knees next to Sam. Dean wanted to tell her to _hurry the hell up!_ Because he had just watched his brother die. He had _just_ watched Sam's breathing stop in a dark and dirty alleyway. He wasn't doing it again. "Take my hand!" the woman ordered and Dean instantly did as she said, unwilling to argue, unwilling to question when Sam's life was on the line and she was the only one who had any idea at all what was going on. "Don't let go of your brother." Dean nodded, tightening his hand on Sam's shoulder. He wanted to tell her that he had no intention of letting go. He had never had any intention of letting go. But Kathleen bunched her hand in Sam's shirt and Dean remained silent.

He watched, every muscle tensed as he waited for her to do something. What that something was, he had absolutely no idea. And honestly? he didn't care as long as it made the holes that were appearing all over Sam's body go away. Blood was spreading across his brother's chest, seeping out onto the floor and Dean was pretty sure he was kneeling in it, feeling it soak his jeans. The hand gripping his own suddenly increased in strength, squeezing his fingers to the point where he was pretty sure they were about to break. He didn't make her let go though because this was _Sam_. And letting go was not an option.

And then the pain shot through his head. It was white hot, like someone was slicing his brain apart with a dull knife. A very dull knife. A very dull knife that had recently visited the fire. He heard himself cry out, white spots dancing in his vision. He felt the instinctive desire to grip his head, to hold it together himself. He heard himself sob but only vaguely. He didn't feel himself do it; didn't give himself permission to do it. But he heard it all the same, just a faint echo above the ringing in his ears.

He breathed deeply through his nose, pain dulling to an ache, something he was incredibly grateful for. But then of course, the second this thought crossed his mind, the pain shot through him again, twice as bad. And it wasn't any more fun the second time than it was the first.

And then he felt something snap in his brain. _Something snapped in his brain_ and his vision went completely white.

* * *

><p>When he came back to himself, he was crouched over with the top of his head resting on Sam's chest. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead because - <em>goddamnit<em> - something had _snapped in his head_. Your brain was not supposed to snap. All those wires were there for a reason! As far as he knew, they were all important and he had just lost one. Twitching his fingers, he noted he could move them which he supposed was a relief. He could still see which was another relief. It was probably his smell or – god forbid – his sense of _taste_. Something had to be wrong because you didn't just get _nothing _when something _snapped in your brain._

"Dean?" Kathleen asked, hand gentle on his back. "You okay?" He lifted his head and glared at her because _she had snapped his brain!_ And goddamnit, _no_ he was not okay! There was no aspect of this situation could be deemed "okay," even by the most naive, optimistic of saps. She recoiled from his gaze which would have been vaguely satisfying if she didn't look so concerned. And slightly annoyed. "Damnit!" she growled. "I should have expected this... Though not expecting the expected does leave life open for surprises!" She smiled but it fell away when Dean didn't return it.

He felt like there was a hole in his chest to match the one in his brain. There was something missing, something important. And he wanted it back. He didn't even know what it was. He just knew it needed to come back right now because… well… he wasn't _him_ without it. And he liked being him. Dean Winchester was awesome, thank you very much, and he'd like to remain that way. But he couldn't if it didn't come back.

"What the hell just happened_!_?" Dean demanded, sitting up and gazing down at his brother's still face. That was when he started to panic. Sam wasn't moving. Sam was _supposed_ to be moving. Sam didn't _not_ move. _He couldn't be dead, couldn't—_

"Don't worry!" Kathleen interrupted his thoughts, apparently reading them at the same time. "He'll come around here soon. Give him a minute…" She sighed, glancing around the room. "I need to talk to both you and your brother at the same time because you're far deeper in this than I thought. Good for you. Means you can help. Though, you should have already. No, you couldn't've because you've upset him. Weakened it. Yes. Yes." Dean scrubbed his hand down his face, tuning out the crazy babbling. Incoherent people bothered him. They were expelling the energy it took to speak anyway. Why couldn't they do something useful with it?

It wasn't long before Sam sat up with a gasp, drawing in a deep lungful of air.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean sighed in both relief and exhaustion, grabbing his brother's shoulders to ground him. "You have something you'd like to share with the class?" As Sam took in his surroundings and as his gaze landed on Dean, Dean saw the confusion in his eyes shift to something else. And that something else was _completely freaked_. Not just _freaked_. No, completely and totally, one-hundred percent, I'm-a-deer-standing-in-Impala-headlights _freaked_. Sam's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, glancing over at Kathleen. And Dean realized then that it wasn't what had just happened that had put that look on his face. Sure, that was probably part of it because really? who wouldn't be terrified by what had just happened? But the way he wouldn't look at Dean said it was that and a whole lot more.

"Let's talk! Yes!" Kathleen stood, offering her hand to Sam who hesitantly took it, allowing himself to be dragged from the room. Dean followed after, practically stepping on his brother's heels because he wasn't getting left out of this conversation. Both Sam and Kathleen knew something about what had just happened. And Dean was going to find out what said-somethings were because this was spiraling out of Dean's control. And Dean liked it when things were in his control.

* * *

><p>His brother's uncomfortable shifting and Kathleen's awkward prompting were driving Dean insane. The psychic kept trying to pawn off starting the conversation on Sam and said-Sam was a master at not doing things he didn't want to. So this wasn't getting anyone anywhere.<p>

"Someone just tell me what the hell is going on here!" he ordered, glaring particularly hard at Sam who didn't meet his gaze, just stared pointedly down at the coffee table like he could incinerate it with his brain. And yes, Dean knew there were more elegant ways to get someone to talk but that had always been Sam's job. Dean had always been a straightforward, shoot from the hip kind of person. Sam was the one with the clever manipulation. And yes, Dean did consider using the friggin' puppy dog eyes manipulation. It was the _epitome_ of manipulation.

Sighing, he sunk back in the armchair and half-wondered, if he glared hard enough, if he really could bore a hole into the top of Sam's skull and see what he was thinking. Though that thought was quickly disregarded because that would mean there was a _hole_ in Sam's _skull_ and that couldn't be good for his health.

"It started right after… right after I left," Sam started, brushing his hair out of his face. "I was… in that car and… I saw Lucifer." Dean froze, trying to keep the incredulous choking sound in his head and away from his vocal chords. Of all the things he had been expecting - of all the things he _hadn't_ been expecting - that wasn't even on the list. Because really, what did PTSD from Hell have to do with any of this?

"Lucifer? Like hallucination-Lucifer?" And he felt irrationally angry. Yes, he knew it was stupid and pointless because if he had learned one thing, it was that getting pissed at angels didn't help anybody. But he couldn't help it. Why couldn't Sam, even with Lucifer locked away deep in Hell, ever get a break? This was supposed to be over. Lucifer was supposed to be leaving him _alone_. But he wasn't. Even after the apocalypse, even after everything Sam had done, he was still being tortured everyday. Because the memories were that bad, Dean knew. "I thought we were done with that! You told me you were better! You told me you hadn't seen him in weeks!"

"I hadn't!" Sam defended, eyes meeting Dean's. It was only for a moment and Dean felt a strange sense of loss when he looked away. "But um… he was there… and I had thought I was done with it too…"

_Sam was cold. And it sucked. Really sucked. Epically sucked. The car he had stolen naturally, in true Sam Winchester fashion, had a broken heater. And it was cold at night when you had to sleep in said-car with no heater because it was more likely for your brother to hunt you down if you checked into a motel. Dean knew all of his aliases, even ones that Sam himself didn't know he was going to use. If Dean called around, he would find him almost instantly. No, it would be less likely for Dean to find him if he stayed in the car._

_That wasn't the point though. The point was that Sam was currently miserable. More than miserable._

_It sucked._

_He had been feeling good too. He hadn't seen Lucifer in weeks. He _thought_ his and Dean's__ relationship was getting back on track_…_ and he supposed that was what made this situation a gazillion times worse. He should have known. Sam Winchester didn't get to feel good; Sam Winchester was only supposed to be a miserable angst-ridden mess for his entire life. Well, his miserable angst-ridden self was back in full force so he hoped the universe was friggin' satisfied._

_He was curled up in the front seat, knife clutched under his head, car pulled off of some abandoned highway in the middle of nowhere. It might as well have been negative ten degrees out, his jacket was pathetic, and it all sucked._

"_Hurts, don't it?" The voice came from the back seat and Sam nearly impaled himself._

"_Jesus—" he growled, dropping the knife in exchange for driving his thumb into the palm of his hand._

"_I warned you about him, but did you listen? Nope. Of course you didn't." Lucifer smirked, dropping a notebook he had apparently found stashed in the back of the car. Or stashed in the back of Sam's brain. Or wherever it was that hallucinations found things. "Isn't this fun?" he asked. "Do you remember the things we used to do with Dean? In the cage?" Sam swallowed, pressing down harder because he didn't_ want_ to remember. He didn't want to know. More than anything, he didn't want to know what Lucifer had done to Dean.__ "Maybe you don't… I'll just recap for you then, shall I?"_

_Sam turned his hand, driving his almost nonexistent nail into the scar instead. His teeth were clenched so tight he was pretty sure his jaw was going to be locked like that forever._

"_See, we would create our own Dean, let him pull you off the rack and then we'd let you watch him die. Over and over and over…"_

"_Shut up," Sam growled, glancing down at his palm. He was pretty sure a bruise was forming but _Lucifer was still there._ He needed to go. _Right now_. Sam couldn't deal with this. Not anymore. Maybe not ever…_

"_And then sometimes," Lucifer chuckled, "we'd let him do the torturing. Let out all of his hostility towards you. You remember that, don't you?" Sam flinched, the memories pouring through his brain. He remembered all of that, remembered with a sense of clarity that sent a tremor through his body. He remembered exactly how he felt, the relief when he first saw his brother. And then there was the betrayal and sick sense of resignation whenever they had Dean stick the knife in him. The _understanding_. And the things Hell-Dean would say… He'd believe them too, especially the longer he was there._

_In the early days, he would immediately know that it wasn't Dean. It was simple: he was in Hell, Dean wasn't. Basic logic. But after fifty years or so, he was so desperate to believe in something that believing Dean had come for him, even for just a few moments, gave him a small, admittedly pathetic amount of comfort. That was until "Dean" dug a knife into his side or was torn apart. So yeah, it started taking him longer and longer to remember that it wasn't really Dean. And after about a hundred years, he never remembered, not even when his "big brother" started carving him up. By the end, he had forgotten anyone in and everything about his life, even his name. Except for Dean. He never forgot Dean and he really had to wonder if that was part of their game._

"_Do you remember when we'd string Dean up on the rack? Make you listen to him scream?"_

"_Shut up!" Sam growled, hand protesting as his bones ground together. Lucifer remained wholly unaffected, getting more and more amusement out of Sam's distress._

"_Unfortunately, I'm going to have to give Michael the credit he deserves for that one. Really ingenious, if I do say so myself. It was always the best, wasn't it? When we got you begging for us to torture you instead? And of course we always complied - after a while... I mean, we're fair angels, aren't we?"_

"_I said shut up!" Sam grabbed the knife off of the bench seat where he'd dropped it and sliced it across his palm, blood instantly pooling inside the wound. It hurt because he hadn't measured it right and had cut too deep. But car went silent so the pain was well worth it. He felt strangely detached as he watched the blood run in between his fingers, dripping off them and onto the upholstery. But it was quiet and that was all that mattered. It was quiet and it was all fine. It was—_

"_Doesn't seem to work anymore, does it?" Sam jumped again when the voice came back, this time coming from the shotgun seat. Lucifer was sitting there, watching him carefully. "Go ahead and become a poster boy for self-harm campaigns if you want but it's not gonna get rid of me. Not anymore. Let's talk about Dean, shall we?" he said, linking his fingers together and settling more firmly in the seat._

"_Why are you here?" Sam asked, voice nowhere near as strong as it sounded in his head._

"_Lied to you, did he?"_

_ "I'm not in the cage anymore. I know that. You aren't real," Sam said, pulling his knees up into his chest. Apparently, Lucifer thought his was funny because he chuckled to himself, pulling the knife from Sam's hands._

_ "No, we've established _you're _not in the cage," he said, picking at his fingernails with the blade. "But - little Sammy… where am I?"_

_ Sam paused, chewing on his bottom lip. The blood was still dripping in between his fingers and he vaguely wondered whether or not he should bother wrapping it. "What're you talking about?"_

_ Lucifer just smiled at him, leaning back in the seat. "Ah Sammy, we are going to have such a good time…"_

"And then I was back in the cage," Sam whispered and Dean had no idea what he was supposed to think, let alone _say_. "And Lucifer was there. And Michael was there. And I was back. I woke up back in the car a couple hours later to find the thing covered in blood. I thought… Well, I thought I was hallucinating it all." Dean knew he should craft a response. He should say _something_, anything at all. But he couldn't because his brain had kind of shorted out.

"But then it happened again. And again," Sam continued, swallowing thickly. "And every time I would wake up and blood would be everywhere. I'd have angel banishing sigils drawn into everything around me because… I don't know… It was stupid but I got desperate. They didn't work. They should've," he growled, pushing his hand through his hair. "But yeah, um… I guess I'd die... in the cage and you remember… you just come back, perfectly healed, ready for them to go again…" Sam's words drifted off, falling quiet.

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face, feeling that deep resounding ache start back up in his chest because Sam was _never supposed to know_. Sam was never supposed to know what Hell was like, was especially never supposed to know what _Lucifer's Cage_ was like. If there was anything in this world that Dean wished he could have protected his brother from, it was that. But he didn't and now he wished he could protect him from the memories. Because sometimes, they were worse.

That was when Dean noticed that Sam had spaced out, eyes going unfocused. "Sam!" he called, snapping his fingers in front of his brother's face because Sam was remembering, was seeing it in his head. And if pulling him out of his thoughts was all Dean could do to protect him, then… it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. But it was something and he'd have to live with that. Because he hadn't been able to stop it in the first place. He hadn't kept Sam from going to Hell, hadn't been the one to bring him back, hadn't stopped the wall from being torn down. And now he was going to have to live with the knowledge that he couldn't do anything more than keep Sam from retreating into his memories.

Sam jumped, shaking himself. "But uh… Yeah… Apparently whatever happened to me there, in my head, happened here as well. So yeah… I'd bleed here. And die. And then come back to life completely healed." Dean glanced over at Kathleen who was nodding, muttering something to herself. Everything made sense in a way that didn't make sense at all. Sam's story fit with what Dean knew, the bleeding, the sigils, the _dying._ But the rest of it - the _why_ and _how_ - didn't make any sense.

Kathleen glanced up when she felt Dean's heavy gaze on her. "It's a psychic connection," she told them. "He's… connected to Lucifer."

Those were four words you never wanted to hear in reference to your baby brother.

The room had become oppressively silent and Dean felt like he was suffocating. "What?" he choked, feeling like the entire world was spiraling away from him. It probably was. How good would your oxygen intake be as you free-fell through space because your planet decided to drop you? He glanced over at Sam who was staring at Kathleen, resignation coloring his face. And that was just _wrong_ on so many levels.

"Sam has somehow welcomed the devil into his mind and it _appears_ Lucifer is using the connection to the full extent of its ability. Most bonds can't produce physical affects but this one can so—"

"It's 'cuz I said yes," Sam interrupted suddenly, staring at the coffee table. "I said yes and let him into my head and he never left. He's still in there, isn't he? We managed to put him behind a wall when I first came back but the wall's gone and he's in my head." And the pieces all clicked into place. Lucifer had come back with Sam's soul and he was in there, running torture on Sam even though Sam was _out_. Sam was _out_ and it was all supposed to be over. PTSD? Dean could work on that. It would get better. A psychic bond to _Lucifer_? What the hell were you supposed to do with that_!_?

It was quiet for another moment before Kathleen whispered, "Yes. It seems… that this bond is so powerful that he can pull your consciousness into the cage with him. He can only do it temporarily though because to do so permanently he'd need your consent," she added quickly, noting Dean's darkening gaze.

"So Sam's being dragged into Hell every time he closes his eyes_!_?" Dean demanded, feeling relatively sick. The churning in his gut was enough to put him off eating for the rest of his life.

And nobody was looking him in the face which wasn't really making him feel any better.

"Yes," Sam whispered, biting at his lip and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head. It wasn't in defeat, more in apology. They couldn't run from this. That was the most important thing Dean had figured out. He couldn't drag Sam off to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and shield him from the world. He couldn't lock him in a room, line all the openings with rock-salt and devil's traps to protect him. It wouldn't work because the threat was latched on to Sam, locked on him. And nothing Dean did could protect him from that.

"There's more…" Dean's head snapped towards Kathleen at the same time Sam's did, taking in her rapidly paling complexion. "I just thought about it now but… it's only logical that if Lucifer can drag Sam into Hell through this bond… then Sam can drag Lucifer out."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: I shall be returning to a regular posting schedule now. :-)_

_Happy 2012!_


	10. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, story alerted/favorited, etc! I really appreciate your support. :-) I'm so sorry for the hiatus. I promise to update next week. And my guilt over my lateness may even be so great that I update before then. Feel free to kick me for this because I know that there is nothing more irritating than a person who promises to update and then doesn't. No more hiatuses. Promise this time. :-)_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of no plot and be made entirely out of chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not. Therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>A few days ago, killing the leviathans had been top priority. Because really? shape-shifting, big-mouthed psychos that had been locked up in Purgatory for thousands of years with nothing on which to unleash said-psycho-big-mouthedness? That was definitely at the top of Dean and Sam's Most Wanted list.<p>

But then Sam had disappeared and honestly, the word "leviathan" was about as far from Dean's mind as it could possibly get. Because since when did anything big, bad, and nasty take precedence over Sam? Never had before and never would. Still, as he sat in the room he and Sam were sharing and allowed his mind to wander, Dean almost felt bad that he didn't... well... feel _bad_ about pawning off the leviathan issue on Bobby. He wasn't really in the mood to save the world. You could only do that so many times before it lost its shiny, metallic appeal. And besides, the world was an evil place.

It and the leviathans deserved each other.

Besides, Dean had another problem to worry about right now. Sam was _not_ going to be tortured in his mind for the rest of his life. There was no way Dean was going to let him go to Hell every time Lucifer got bored. And really, if that was the only issue there, Dean was more than willing to invest in some outside entertainment for the cage. He'd hook them up with cable, flat screen television, alcohol, hookers, _anything._ The means in which those things were acquired would probably be sketchy, but hey, at least Lucifer would have to go find his own life and would stop screwing with Sam's.

And he really wished it was that easy because Sam wasn't supposed to be there anymore. It was supposed to be _over_. He had said it was, promised Sam that it was. "_You got away_. _We got you out, Sammy." _And that was one thing that Dean had never intended to lie about. He was acclimated to lying, had done a lot of it in his time, to his Dad, to random people in bars, to random people on the street, even to Sam. But this lie was so much worse than all of those and to his conscience, it apparently didn't matter that at the time, he hadn't known he was lying.

He had to talk to Sam. Together they could fix it, could fix everything. So with that in mind, Dean stood and made his way out of the bedroom.

He hadn't said anything after their living room revelation. And now that he thought about it, that probably hadn't been the best way to handle the situation. Sam had most likely jumped to the conclusion that he was pissed and as much as it looked that way, he wasn't pissed. Not really, at least. Well... he was a little but it was manageable. Completely manageable. Because really, the fact that Sam knew why Dean had found him bloody in an alleyway and had decided not to share was definitely worthy of some pissiness. And if Dean had the brain power to waste on it, he would probably have been angrier than he was. But then, the only situation in which he would have that brain power to waste would be if none of this had happened at all and he therefore, would have no need to be angry. Therefore, Sam apparently got a pass. This time.

Still, regardless of the circumstances in which he would allow himself to be pissed, he hadn't hastily retreat to the bedroom because he was angry. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he would never_, ever_ admit it to _anyone_, he was terrified. And he had never reacted well to being terrified. He liked to control things and when he couldn't, he became panicked. When he became panicked, he tended to break lamps. Or peoples' faces. Whichever was closer. That happened a lot between him and Sam - the lamp breaking, not so much the face breaking. Though there had been a fair share of that as well... Anyways, it scared him that he couldn't control his brother, couldn't control every aspect of his life. Because that meant there was a margin for error and when there was a margin, it was only a matter of time before the error came around. And an error was not acceptable. Not in hunting, not in life. Especially not in Sam's life.

His steps slowed and quieted as he neared the living room, Dean trying to tune into the sound of his brother's and Kathleen's voices. Hearing Sam sound far steadier and stronger than any other person's would be in this situation caused a pang of sadness to shoot through Dean's chest. It was almost as if Sam had been subject to the dumping of so much crap, had had that crap dumped on him so much, that he was just numb to it. It was like he had been given so much bad news that he had reached the point where it no longer fazed him. Or rather, he had reached the point where he no longer let it faze him.

And as much as that hurt to know, Dean actually wished it were true only because he had seen what happened to Sam every time a new pile of shit was dumped on him. He had been there, witnessed how much it hurt his brother to be the punching bag of the entire friggin' universe. And Dean knew, from everything he had gone through, everything that he had seen in Sam's face throughout the years, being numb was far better than being in that kind of pain.

"Why did this just start?" Sam whispered and Dean continued forward, peering through the crack in the door. And yeah, he was eavesdropping. Sue him. "I mean, I've been out of Hell for a while now. Sure, I had run-ins with Lucifer but… nothing like this. I mean… he was _there_ but… _not_, y'know? He might as well have been a hallucination. I thought he _was_ a hallucination."

And so had Dean. Back in the good 'ole days when his main concern had been keeping Sam grounded in reality, when his main concern had been fixing Sam's broken psyche (Okay, so he listened when Sam talked sometimes. Again, sue him). Sure, he had been planning on using duct-tape to patch the thing up. And sure, it probably would have ended up warped with little cracks running through it, but hey, at least it wouldn't have been shattered. And at least all of that duct-tape would have ultimately made Lucifer go away, would have completely and totally freed Sam from Hell.

"He was a projection," Kathleen said. "Since then, he's managed to strengthen the psychic connection. You had something… that was keeping it weak, keeping it from taking over. And that's fading now. And Lucifer's attacking. And he's going to keep on attacking until you willingly pull him fully out of Hell. Or you agree to let him pull _you_ fully _into_ Hell." Dean involuntarily shivered, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that settled over him.

"What was keeping it weak?" Sam asked, looking up at the woman. And that was something Dean wanted to know because strengthening things? Dean could do that. Maybe with superglue as a reinforcement, but he could do it. That way, not only would he stop feeling so damn _useless_, Sam would stop dying in front of him. And the latter was the important part. As long as that got done, Dean would do anything and everything he needed to.

"Dean?" The voice caused Dean to reflexively jumped backwards into the shadows, but from the smirk on his brother's face, he knew he had been caught. He also knew that skulking and eavesdropping were no longer options. Which kind of sucked. Skulking and eavesdropping were easy ways to find out what you didn't want to ask yourself. And now Sam had gone and blown his cover. Damn little brothers. "You wanna come in or you wanna hang out in the hallway?" Dean tried to keep his snarling internal but it turned out that that was a lot harder than it should have been. If he had wanted to hang out in the hallway, Sam drawing attention to it would have made doing so incredibly awkward. Maybe he liked standing in hallways. Sam had apparently never thought of that.

"Hallway... Oh! Sorry about the hallway. Y'know...? You having to stand in it?" Kathleen interrupted as Dean debated how to get into the room without making it look like his doing so was Sam's idea. Because he really didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction. "But… Well… I thought… well… I saw Hell all around you and I thought you had some… _demonic_ connection so…" Dean sighed, giving up. He couldn't find anyway to get inside without Sam thinking he had won. Which was annoying because Sam hadn't won. No matter what it looked like. Pushing the door open, he leaned against the doorjamb, eyes immediately locking on his brother.

...Who was smirking at him.

Little bitch.

The room was silent and it wasn't a good silence. It was one of those uncomfortable ones that made people clear their throats awkwardly and shift on their feet. It was the kind that made people fake phone calls in order to get out of the room. But unfortunately, Dean had left his cell phone back in the bedroom so it was of no help whatsoever. And he didn't cook so he couldn't pretend something was burning. And he didn't iron, so he couldn't pretend he had left that on. So in all honesty, he was pretty screwed in regards to escaping. And Sam kept staring at a picture on the fireplace mantle, being completely oblivious and unhelpful. And Kathleen was staring at the floor. Which really wasn't making the situation any better either. Socially, Dean had decided that the two of them were relatively inept.

And then there was the proverbial elephant in the room. The proverbial _massive_ elephant in the room that had taken up permanent residence between him and Sam. Seriously, it had probably pitched a tent and everything there. And he had no idea how to get it to go away because simply shooing it out the window didn't seem to work.

It was a stubborn elephant.

"What do we do about it?" he finally asked, cringing at the sound of his own voice. And that in and of itself was a shame. He normally liked the sound of his voice.

Kathleen sighed. "Well, there are some techniques he could learn to weaken or temporarily sever the bond but… I don't know anything permanent. Especially not since Lucifer's been welcomed into his head."

And wasn't that just great news? No. It wasn't. Not at all. Temporary fixes were just that: temporary. And Dean knew how well those worked. Or rather, how well they _didn't_ work. Hell, if the first temporary fix had been effective, they wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place. Though, this time there wasn't anyone around to speed up this temporary fix's destruction... Maybe it would last longer than the wall.

"Okay," Dean sighed, gaze drifting over to Sam who was still staring at the wall, not reacting to anything being said. "Teach him." And Dean supposed that there was nothing left for them to say. So he turned and left the room, heading back to the safe-house he had created in their temporary bedroom.

* * *

><p>He was in the room for over an hour before Sam came in, looking like he had just gone ten rounds with a brick wall. And lost horrifically. For the record, that was not something Dean suggested doing. Brick walls could be vicious when provoked.<p>

Sweat ran down Sam's face, bangs plastered to his forehead. And he was holding a tissue under his nose, mopping up what seemed to be a pretty bad nose bleed.

Damnit. He had told the woman to _teach him_, not to make him bleed!

"You okay?" Dean asked, propping himself up on his elbows. He asked, even though it was completely obvious that Sam _wasn't_ okay. And that was made doubly obvious by the fact that Dean's voice made Sam jump. And Dean mentally cursed himself because when Sam wasn't okay, you were supposed to _tell_ Sam so. Because he generally couldn't figure it out on his own. You weren't supposed to ask because all that did was waste a bunch of time that couldn't be wasted when Sam wasn't okay. God, he was out of practice.

Sam nodded and turned back to his duffle, riffling around in it. And yeah, as much as Dean wished Sam was telling him the truth, it was really hard to believe that when said-Sam was shaking like a leaf. "Really? You don't look it."

Sam sighed, pulling a shirt out of his bag. "'m fine," he answered. "Just gonna go take a shower."

"'kay-" And Dean had intended to say something, had fully intended to say something reassuring that would make the haunted look on his brother's face go away. But Sam had already fled, swallowed up by the bathroom. And Dean tried not to feel offended by the quiet snick of the door closing, but that turned out to be far harder than it should have been. It echoed in his head and generally he wouldn't be so paranoid... except for the fact that Sam had a very specific way that he closed doors. At least, when he was upset or angry. Dean had heard it all the time with their dad. Sam didn't slam doors shut. No, when he was pissed, he closed doors as calmly as he could manage, far calmer than he managed even on a normal day. And Dean supposed he should be a little freaked out that he could tell his brother's mood by how he _didn't_ slam a door shut. But he wasn't. It was another of those things that was just a part of _them_. And if anything, it was actually a relief that some of his brother-reading methods still worked, because it meant they weren't irreparably broken. He needed that reassurance because every time Sam looked at him like he used to look at their dad... it got harder and harder to believe that they were going to be okay. Because Sam had never looked at Dean like that. Dean had always been the awesome big brother, the one Sam ran to whenever their drill sergeant had cracked down too hard. Sam was never supposed to run_ from_ him, especially when there wasn't anyone for him to run to.

Dean slid under the covers and just lay there, listening to Sam move around in the next room. It was familiar, comfortable. It was every night growing up and every night after Stanford. And it sucked that Dean had to be lying in bed, pretending to be asleep for things to be like that. Because Dean could honestly close his eyes right now and pretend that they were in another no name town in another no name motel room back when things were so much simpler. He could pretend that they were just waiting for their dad to come back or just waiting for the next lead on where he went. He could pretend like that at night, pretend that their lives hadn't gone to hell. And he often did. The problem was though, that the morning always came.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the bathroom door creaked open, spilling light across the room. He could see it through his eyelids, could see it go dark again when Sam flicked the switch off. And he waited for it because this was supposed to be familiar. This was supposed to be routine. And that meant that Sam was supposed to walk across the room, get into bed, _make noise_. But from what Dean could tell, unless he had suddenly become a ninja and could move silently without disturbing the air or the rusty springs on the beds, Sam hadn't moved.

And Dean had no idea what that meant but it couldn't be good.

Peeling one eye open, he could just make out Sam's shadow through the dark. He was standing completely rigid in the bathroom door, frozen in place. And Dean could feel the worry start to grow in his chest because this wasn't normal. This wasn't how this went down every other night of their entire lives.

The silence was deafening, almost to the point where he could hear it ringing in his ears. But... There! The sound of a hitched breath shattered the quiet and Dean would have been thankful for the proof that Sam was breathing, would have been if he wasn't so freaked out. So in order to put his mind at rest, he was going to say something, just to make sure Sam hadn't fallen asleep standing or fallen into Hell or something else equally detrimental to his health.

But that was when his brother moved and turned the bathroom light back on. And yes, that was confusing because lights went _off_ when a person went to sleep. They always had before and Dean would greatly appreciate it if they went off now. As in, _now_ now.

That apparently wasn't an option though because there were those sounds he had been looking for _prior_ to the light going back on. Sam was moving across the room, the bed squeaking under his weight. And that would have been okay - a relief even. Except for the fact that the damn light was still on and Sam wasn't turning it off. Against his better judgment, Dean opened his eyes to the obnoxiously bright light shining in his face. And really? what right did it have to be so perky at this time of the night? He honestly didn't think it had any at all. So therefore, in order to teach it a lesson, he felt the distinct desire to shut it off. Though, Sam was closer and Sam was the one who had turned it on. So therefore, in order to teach both the light and Sam a lesson for leaving said-obnoxiously, glaringly bright light on, Dean decided that Sam could get up out of bed and turn it off himself. Because this whole thing was just ridiculous.

And he had planned on saying so. Fully intended to glare the light into submission and order Sam to shut it off. But that was before he rolled over and faced his brother's bed. That was before his gaze landed on Sam who was lying curled tightly in on himself, deliberately facing the bathroom light.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as his brother's muffled sobs filled the otherwise silent room.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Thank you to everyone who's reading! See you (hypothetically) next week!_


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hey! I'm back! I'm so sorry for the long hiatus. I hate it when people stop stories in the middle and never finish them so I am really sorry that happened here. But it will be finished! _This chapter and possibly the next one are my peace offerings._ __If you're still reading this after the several month long break, then thank you so much for putting up with me._

_Warning: I should probably warn everyone that there are descriptions of Hell in this chapter, complete with semi-graphic imagery. We'll call it that. Whether it actually is semi-graphic or not depends completely on what you consider graphic. :-)_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. It doesn't. So Supernatural clearly does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>So breakfast was awkward. Or rather, it would have been had Dean taken any notice of what was going on. But he hadn't because he was more than content staying locked in his head. He felt useless and horrible and half-sick and the thought of coming out of that dark place was too daunting a task to even think about.<p>

Sam had barely slept last night and as a result, Dean had barely slept last night. And that was despite the fact that Sam had tried very hard to not wake Dean up as he cried himself to sleep. And Dean, who of course, was already awake, had just laid there and listened. Because yes, he was a horrible person. Thank you for asking. But regardless, he hadn't meant to. He had _meant_ to get up. He had _meant_ to listen to the increasingly vocal big brother inside him and go make Sam feel better. Somehow.

But apparently, Dean was a sadist. And a masochist. Because every repressed, choking sob felt like a self-inflicted knife to the chest that just kept _twisting. _So Dean was a horrible, terrible, atrocious person that had been frozen to his bed. His every attempt at getting up was quickly aborted by some greater force. Because Dean Winchester didn't have mental blocks. He didn't pussy out of things because there was a failed connection between his brain and his body... Usually... But whatever greater force - that was _not_ a mental block - had held him down knew that if he got up and went to his brother, if he tried to make things better and got sent away... Well... It knew that he wouldn't have been able to come back from that, knew he wouldn't have been able to handle it.

So he had listened, watched as his brother stared at the light from the bathroom, stared at it like it would keep away his nightmares, his demons.

That used to be Dean's job.

He had been usurped by a light.

And the food in front of him right now looked like snot. Which, okay, normally, he would have been able to overlook. Normally, he would have downed it all and then demanded seconds. And possibly doughnuts. But he wasn't hungry. At all. Which was a real shame because eating was one of the few things in life that he actually enjoyed. The fact that he was being deprived of it was simply another thing to add to his list, "Reasons Why Dean Wishes Hell's Demons Would Stage a Revolution and String Lucifer Up on the Rack." And shockingly enough, that list was getting pretty damn long.

"Ready to try again, Sam?" Kathleen's voice cut across his mind, forcibly dragging him into the present which he was actually quite unhappy about. Because the real world sucked. "You've gotta get it cut. Just keep trying, yes?" And Dean tried to keep himself from scoffing because he doubted it would have been appreciated. The half-gargled sound he made instead though wasn't really much better, Sam's eyes flickering up to his from across the table before quickly darting away again.

And that was it, wasn't it? Sam shouldn't have felt safer lying in the dark with a nightlight than telling him he needed him. That's not how it was supposed to be. And a part of him wondered just how long that had been going on, just when Sam had decided that being alone and scared was better for his mental health than being with Dean. The rest of him though, didn't really want to know.

God, he wished there was alcohol somewhere in the house. There probably was... He'd have to go look for it later...

"Y'okay, Dean?" Sam asked and Dean just nodded, trying to ignore the concern he heard in his brother's voice. Because Sam shouldn't have been worried about him. Not when Lucifer was having unapproved parties in his head. "You look a little... green." Dean was sure he did. He felt like he'd be green.

He didn't say that though. Instead, he cleared his throat, carefully scooping up the gunk on his plate with his fork. "I'm good." His smile felt a little forced. Okay, it was definitely forced and probably strangely lop-sided if the look Sam shot him meant anything. But hey, it wasn't like Sam was exactly jumping up and down to pull out the violins and play "Oh, poor pitiful me" tapes. So yeah, Dean was allowed a bit of denial.

Hypocrisy, you're wanted on Line 1.

"You just have to visualize it, Sam," Kathleen continued as if no one else had spoken. "It's like a tether. See it in your head and cut it." Dean shoved the eggs in his mouth and nearly spat them back out again. Not because they tasted particularly bad. He had definitely eaten worse. It was more that his gag reflex wasn't agreeing with him and it didn't want boogers. It didn't actually want anything.

That was until Kathleen got up and returned seconds later with _bacon_. Because... well..._ bacon_. Juicy, sizzling, bacon-y bacon that looked absolutely nothing like the goo that came out of an infected wound. He already had two pieces stuffed in his mouth and was reaching for more when he realized that he was apparently not allowed to have anything. Not even the most simple, the most pure and right and _greasily perfect_ of all anythings. Because as he stared at his brother stare at the bacon, the food practically turned to ash on his tongue, leaving it crumbly, dry, and tasteless.

Though then again, he had no proof that ash was tasteless. It could actually have quite a bit of taste. Like chicken. Or barbecue.

"Sam? You want some?" Kathleen asked and Dean wanted to tell her that she shouldn't have been waving that in front of Sam's face. But he was too focused on Sam's face himself to even think of it.

"Um…" Sam swallowed thickly, eyes wide, breath quickening. And if Dean didn't know better, he'd say that the bacon was about to send his brother into a full blown panic attack. And he didn't know any better so it was quite possible that the bacon _was_ about to send his brother into a full blown panic attack.

"Sam?" Dean asked, his mouth still stuffed full of food because he couldn't swallow it and there was no viable place to spit it out.

Sam glanced across at him and just like that, the panic was gone, hidden behind a wall far more effective than the one meant to hold back Hell. And Dean wanted to call him on it because Dean had invented the immovable wall of emotions, had built it up brick by brick and had never given Sam permission to borrow it. Which meant he was stealing and Dean wanted his goddamn wall back! And honestly, Sam had never learned how to use it right, at least not around Dean.

"Um, no. You know what? Um… I think I'm done eating. Thanks though." And he all but fled from the room, sending the chair skidding back across the floor several inches. So that left Dean, chewing on his lip, forcing dirt down his throat, staring at the empty space his brother had vacated. And that left him to realize that none of the eggs on Sam's plate had actually made it into Sam's mouth. No, like a five year old who wanted to make it look like they had eaten when they really didn't, it was all pushed to the side, condensed into a tight pile. Just to confuse everyone.

Groaning, Dean sank back in his chair. He remembered what it was like when you came back from Hell. And yes, he had been the first to admit that the eggs looked like the insides of a person's nose and the bacon... though he hadn't drawn the connection at first, he knew the connection that Sam would have instantly drawn between its appearance and Hell and certain human body parts. And more than anything, he wished that wasn't the case.

And Kathleen... Kathleen just looked confused. Not that Dean could blame her.

* * *

><p><em>Michael burned cold; Lucifer burned hot<em>. _That was the only way you could tell them apart when they really got going. And Sam wasn't sure which one was better to have in the position of his torturer, which one was worse at their job. Michael was more creative, but Lucifer had the advantage of experience and… well, Lucifer _knew _him. He'd been inside his head. _

Dean surged upwards in his bed, gasping, pounding at his forehead with his hand, demanding it stop _right the hell now_. Because having dreams while he was awake was one of those things that was simply _not _supposed to happen. Ever. Well... that was unless you were Sam.

But still, having dreams _through your brother's eyes _of _your brother's Hell_ while you're awake fell into an entirely different category, one that Dean Winchester was never supposed to go anywhere near. And strangely enough, that thought didn't make him feel better.

Nor did it stop it from happening.

_Things were different this time. It was both cold and hot, like the ice was burning… or the fire was freezing. Sam didn't care either way. It all amounted to pretty much the same thing._

_He was strung up, meat hooks in his arms and legs, pulling him apart, keeping him from moving even a little bit. Because doing so would _hurt._ Badly. Would tear and pull at his muscles and tendons until they ripped in two. And he could feel blood already dripping down his arms, could feel it running towards his elbow._

_And it wasn't like he wasn't used to it, wasn't like he probably didn't deserve it. But still._

_Later, when he'd look back on it, he'd realize that he should have noticed his first clue. The fact that everything was quiet, that there wasn't any sound anywhere should have told him that something was wrong. Because things were never quiet. _Never_. __There was always fighting and yelling and screaming and laughing and cheering. Never silence. Because Lucifer liked the noise. Michael didn't care either way but Lucifer... he hated silence, reveled in screams, reveled in the attention the demons gave him when he sliced into Sam's body._

_But Sam didn't notice any of that. Instead, all he could focus on was a soft, comforting, _safe_ voice. The only thing that had ever meant home. And any questions he had had, any doubt, simply vaporized._

The pain when he bounced off the doorjamb barely registered in Dean's overwrought mind. He barely even felt it, barely even knew it had happen. Because he was too busy shouting, "_Sam!__"_

He needed help. It was like he had double vision, like he was seeing through Hell to reality. Or through reality to Hell. Or both were reality and his mind was going to explode as a result of being torn in half. Stumbling out into the main hallway, everything was swimming around him. And there were so many _doors_. Which one was it again? And which of the doors were actually doors and which were just... _not_...?

There was no way to tell so he picked one at random, hoping it would lead him somewhere useful. Somewhere preferably not Wonderland. But it didn't matter because that turned out to be a _not_-door and he ended up crashing into a wall. He ignored the pain spiking in his skull and groped sideways, hoping that he'd end up falling through a doorway at some point.

_"Dean?" Sam asked. It was Dean. Dean had come to save him. Dean would always save him. _Always_. Had promised he'd save him. "_No matter what,"_ he had always said. And here he was. He was going to_ save him.

_Even though, deep down, he knew he didn't deserve it._

"_Sammy!_?" Dean called again because the world was tilting now and he was pretty sure he was walking on a wall. "Kathleen_!_? Someone_!_?" But no one answered. Though he wasn't sure he'd know if they did because his hearing kept cutting in and out, flipping between the spinning fun-house from Hell and the silence of actual Hell. But then the smell of sulfur assaulted him and whatever tenuous grip he held on the reality he wanted to exist in slipped away.

_"Heya, Sammy," Dean whispered, carefully taking the first meat hook out of his brother's arm. The pull caused Sam to winced and Dean muttered an apology, quickly moving to the other side. "You're gonna be okay now… __Promised you I'd save you, didn't I? If it was the last thing I did, 'member?" Sam tensed as Dean pulled the hooks out of his thighs, had to fight down the bile rising in his throat. But it actually wasn't too bad because his brother's constant stream of babbling was calming in a way nothing else could possibly be. And Sam let out a choked sob, nodding to let Dean know he remembered because he did. One of the few things he could remember._

He ran into something. Dean wasn't sure what he ran into because everything was swirling together, forming a blob of mixed, twisted, sickening colors. And he kind of felt like he was in one of those weird watercolor paintings that Sam was always going on about. A really bad one.

He fell to his knees. At least he was pretty sure they were his knees, he couldn't really tell anymore.

_"Whadaya say we get you out of here, huh? I think two months in Hell is more than enough, don't you?" Sam choked on another sob as Dean carefully lowered him to the ground, supporting his back, hand already putting pressure on the tear in his arm where the hook had been._

_And Sam just let his brother hold him, curling in tighter to the first _not-_painful touch he had felt in two decades. "You can put me down, Dean. I can walk." But Sam knew that the way he had his hands twisted in his brother's shirt said the exact opposite and Dean just laughed._

Dean felt something hot and acidic come up his throat.

And he wasn't quite sure where it ended up after that.

His vision was starting to gray-out and he supposed that was actually better than all the colors. There were too many. Too many that were too bright.

"_Bitch," Dean sighed, helping him to his feet and Sam replied in the only way he ever would, "Jerk."_

_And then the steady arm around Sam's shoulders suddenly disappeared, was ripped away from him. Panic clawed at his chest as he flipped around, only to find Dean twenty feet away, a hellhound standing on his chest._

"_No! Dean!" Sam screamed but it wasn't going to make the dog stop shredding his brother's chest, wasn't going to make Dean stop screaming in pain as he fought to get away._

_Sam heard Lucifer's ecstatic laugh, saw Michael's cold clinical smile._

_He saw his brother's body, completely shredded, eyes sightless as he stared up at the ceiling. _Dead_ because he had tried to save Sam one last time. _

_And it was then that Sam knew with a bone-deep certainty that he wasn't supposed to be saved._

The colors had all disappeared, leaving nothing but gray, black, and red. Red – blood. Red, blood. Too much red, too much blood.

Hell caught in his throat, his chest. The smell of demons and broken souls clogged his nose and he couldn't breathe, not without also inhaling their agony, their pain, their desperation. And then there was Sam. And he was Sam. And he could feel Sam's agony, Sam's pain, _Sam's_ desperation. And the coldness of it left him choking on the sulfuric stench of emptiness.

And the red hot burn of hopelessness.

It was all _red_. Too much red, too much blood.

_Sam took the first thing he could find and rammed it through his chest. And it didn't take long until he was choking on his own blood, knelt by his brother's side, staring into empty eyes._

"_You _promised_ me, you asshole! You told me you were gonna get us out of here. Don't leave me here! Take me with you, please?" Sam begged, fighting against the blood clogging up his throat, but welcoming the darkness with open arms._

_And then Sam was awake, strung up on the rack once again._

"_Heya Sammy," Dean smiled gently. "Whadaya say we get you out of here?"_

But he never did. Not for one hundred and eighty years. And finally, the red – _too much blood_ – faded and Dean saw only black.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Again, thank you so much to anyone who read this._

_There are approximately 12 chapters left. Some of them are pretty long though so I may break them up._


	12. Chapter 11

_A/N: T__he stuff I'm hearing from Comic Con is depressing me so here's another chapter! Let it be known that in my universe, the brother's will always be everything to each other._

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_Warnings: Heavy angst._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>So Dean had the worst hangover in the history of ever. Except for the fact that he didn't which was completely and totally unfair. Because if he had a hangover, then that would mean he would at least have a night of memories - <em>drunk<em> memories, but memories nonetheless - to get him through it. But, no. He hadn't had a busty blonde pouring shot after shot in front of him. He hadn't experienced the wonderful sensations of forgetfulness, of indifference, of _numbness._

No, he hadn't gotten any of that. Instead, he'd gotten Hell-fire.

Though at that moment, Hell-fire had nothing on the way his brother's eyes were incinerating the side of his skull.

"I'm fine, Sam." It came out harsher than he had meant it to, sharper. But the ceiling he was staring up at, while blessedly neutral, was doing nothing whatsoever to keep the rising tide of vomit from... well... _rising_. Which was really pissing him off. So his brain was a bit preoccupied. Not that it was doing an exceptionally good job keeping his insides in place but still, he wasn't about to tell it that. If it revolted or went on strike, things would not end well for any party involved. And as he was deeply invested in his party, he was going to keep his opinions regarding his mind's job performance to himself.

His brother's sigh split his skull as if it were nothing, sliced straight through it. And if not for the fact that he knew Sam was just worried about him, Dean would have ejected said-brother from the room a long time ago. But then again, the amount of effort it would have taken to remove the Sasquatch-sized ass would have been almost impossible for Dean to muster up. And even if he did somehow manage to do so, his brain wouldn't have been able to handle the added task. And the second Dean's head ended up in the toilet, Sam would have come back into the room anyways, quickly destroying all of his hard-work.

"That doesn't work, y'know," Sam snapped, and Dean jumped, the sharpness in the voice a little surprising. Though he supposed it was good to know that he wasn't the only one that had life doing the cancan on his last nerve.

"What?" he demanded, and then squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing to make it harder for anything to come up that direction. If it had to fight against the current of saliva, then maybe it would be discouraged and just turn right back around again. Because there was no way he was getting sick. That would only make his headache worse. And besides, the bed he was lying on was too comfortable to get off of.

Sam rolled his eyes and answered, "That. It doesn't do anything." But it did. It did do something. It did a lot of somethings, the most important of which was that it made him feel better. Lying, denial, a faked belief that everything was okay made him think, if even for a second, that no one could see how _not_ okay it really was. So yeah, Sam could leave him and his denial alone.

Though where Sam got off saying anything, he had no idea. Because his brother had been telling him he was fine right up until the moment he imploded. And then during the implosion. And then after the implosion. So Dean could damn well say his head was fine.

Despite the fact he was almost definitely going to throw up on the disgustingly flowered comforter.

"Kathleen know what the hell happened?" he asked, changing the subject. Even though he didn't really need to ask. Because he could _feel it_. Because it was the same thing that kept happening the entire year Sam was in Hell, the same thing that happened when he saw himself and Sam in the motel parking lot. And you could never mistake the feeling of drowning in another person's thoughts, could never mistake the feeling of your consciousness splitting in half as you became two people instead of just the one you were supposed to be. And a part of him wondered how he had even thought it to be a dream in the first place. Because while his brain apparently wasn't particularly good at its job of keeping him sane, the torture and pain he always felt was too vivid, too sharp for even him to manage.

Sam let out a breath, like he really wished Dean hadn't asked. Like telling him was going to be worse than the cage had been. "She said... uh..." He laughed but it sounded hollow and fake, forced. Though that was probably because it was. And Dean half-wished he just wouldn't bother, wished he would just let his front go, even if Dean refused to do the same. "You and I are... connected. Psychically."

And despite the rolling in his stomach, despite the fact that his brain knew it was a really bad idea, Dean's head snapped sideways to stare across the space between the two beds. To stare at a brother who very clearly did not want to be stared at. Because Sam wouldn't look up for more than an instant, eyes flickering to Dean's before falling away again, like he was afraid of what he would see there.

And Dean wasn't sure what exactly it was that he _would_ see there. Because again, his brain wasn't doing so well in the job performance department. Controlling his face along with everything else would have lowered his ability to keep his guts in place and again, that was the main goal here. Besides, his mind was too consumed with _"What the_ _hell!_?" for him to even worry about it.

"Basically... when Lucifer formed his bond... I left myself open to others," Sam continued. "They all formed right before I jumped into Hell and you were... well... _there _so... yeah..." And it was only after he had lurched out of bed, rolling over the side to hurl in the bucket strategically placed on the floor that Dean realized he had made Fatal Error #1 when trying to keep from vomiting: he had left his mouth hanging open. And that was equivalent to throwing the door open and saying _come on out!_

Fail. Bad. Stupid.

And while he vomited, he found himself distantly wondering how he was going to make his brain accept the fact that it had been fired for its incompetence.

When he finished, he found a glass of water had somehow made its way to his hand along with an entire bottle of pills. And if not for the fact that the thought of swallowing anything made him want to die, he would probably have taken the entire bottle.

Then again, _taking_ the entire bottle would probably equate to dying so he supposed that didn't really make sense.

So he took the water and set the pills on the nightstand, busying himself with rinsing his mouth out. Repeatedly. As many times as he could manage.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam's voice said, brushing along the edge of Dean's incredibly annoyed mind. Because he wasn't supposed to throw up. He hated throwing up more than almost anything. Hence why he was so good at _not_ throwing up. He had picked up every trick he could throughout his life, anything that would help keep the contents of his stomach exactly where they belonged and preferably not anywhere else. And it pissed him off that a moment of forgetfulness, of shock had forced him to puke in a bucket.

But that aside, Dean was able to pause in his spitting long enough to glance incredulously at his brother. Though said-brother didn't seem to notice. "I'm working on breaking them. I just have to... work harder I guess." Sam shrugged, lacing his fingers together, elbows resting on his knees. And it took Dean way longer than he was proud of to figure out that Sam was apologizing to him for subconsciously binding their minds together.

Though he supposed he could be excused for being slow on the uptake because honestly, who would even think about doing that? Who would apologize for doing something they had absolutely no control over?

Oh, right. Sam would. Because Sam's conscious was disproportionate and far exceeded the maximum size appropriate for the freakishly huge idiot Dean called his brother.

So Dean ignored the insults his head shouted at him as he pushed up from the edge of the bed, forcing himself to sit against the headboard. Because falling off and face planting in a bucket of stomach innards sounded like absolutely no fun whatsoever. "Here's the deal, Sam," he said, legs crossed at his ankles as he drank the remaining water. And Sam actually looked up at him, away from the floor he seemed so obsessed with. Which Dean supposed was a good thing. "Your brain? What it does? Not your fault. Hell, I can hardly get mine to listen to me. Ever. And yours is way more... big."

Silently proud of himself, Dean turned his gaze to the nightstand. The pill bottle was sitting there. Mocking him. And he really wanted his headache to go away...

"This was my fault," Sam stated, so clearly, so determinedly, as if there was no way that could possibly be untrue. And it was. It was _so untrue_ that Dean didn't even know where to begin. "Lucifer was playing memories in my head. I got locked in there so you got pulled in after me." Dean's eyes fell to his hands, something lodging in his chest, making it painful to breathe. Because to Sam, the part of that statement that was the most important, the most horrible was the fact that Dean had been pulled in.

To Dean, it was everything _but_ that.

Especially because it was accompanied by the realization that everything he had seen in his dreams, everything he had seen at Lisa's, everything he had heard in the parking lot, had actually happened to his brother. Everything had been real to Sam in a way Dean had never known. Which meant Dean had watched it all happen. Which meant Dean had seen Sam's Hell, had seen what Lucifer had done to his brother, had seen how bad it had really gotten, how bad it _was._

...Had heard Sam scream for Dean to save him.

Driving the heels of his hands into his eyes, he breathed, "Sam..." And then he had no idea what else to say, where he was supposed to go with that. Because when he just started talking, stupid stuff tended to come out, stupid stuff that he'd regret later because apparently, he was emotionally stunted. And he couldn't afford to be. Not when he knew all of this, not when he felt like there was this huge gaping tear in his chest that couldn't heal until Sam smiled and actually meant it, until Sam had a _reason_ to smile.

Growling, he slid down against the headboard, practically lying flat again. "It's not... Not everything is your fault," he finally said. Because it was simple and true and there was no way it could be taken to mean anything other than what it did. There was no way it could further damage their already broken relationship. And though he could tell Sam didn't fully believe him, he could also tell from the way the corner of his mouth twitched up, the way he tipped his head that he appreciated the comment.

And that would have been a win. Would have been, but that look melted away almost as quickly as it had appeared, an emptiness overtaking his brother's eyes.

That was not a win. That would be the definition of _lose_. "...Sam?"

"I won't do it, Dean," he said, resolve strong, confident. And he looked up from the floor to stare into Dean's eyes, meeting him head on for the first time in what seemed like forever. "You don't have to worry about it this time. No matter what he does, I'm not gonna pull him out." And Dean realized as cold flooded his veins that this conversation was traveling in the complete opposite of the right direction.

"Sam-"

"I'll let him pull me in before I let him out again." And the quiet anger, the amount of self-loathing in that statement actually knocked there air from Dean's lungs, something he had never thought physically possible for words to do. But they definitely had because there was _no freaking air in the freaking room_. Or in his chest. Which he was pretty sure was a bad thing.

Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, he opened his mouth to say something. But before he could figure out what, he realized that Sam was gone. Where he had gone, Dean had no idea. When he had left, Dean, again, had no idea, because for the life of him, he couldn't remember Sam getting up and leaving, couldn't picture the moment in his mind that that had happened.

He guessed it must have at some point though. Because once again, he was sitting alone. And once again, he felt like he was farther from the finish line than he was when he started.

Swallowing, he wondered if that was okay, if he could work with that. Because tracks could be circular. So even if you went the back way around, in the complete opposite direction of everybody else, as long as you followed the path, as long as you had your destination in mind, you'd circle back to the finish line eventually. You would make it there, maybe not in the conventional way, but you'd make it. And besides, when had the Winchesters ever done anything the conventional way?

So Dean closed his eyes, pressing his back into the headboard behind him. He'd make it to the finish line. At some point. As long as he wanted it, as long as he knew where he was trying to go, he'd make it there.

...Right?

* * *

><p>Ignoring the way Sam flinched at the sound of his voice was more difficult than he had expected. When he had to force himself to ignore the way wide, terrified eyes stared up at him from the couch in the living room, the world seemed to dull around him. Because ignoring wasn't something he was good at. He couldn't simply <em>forget<em> to notice when his brother was hurt or afraid or worried or sad or angry or _anything_. He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't.

It had been hours since they had last seen each other, darkness now seeping in through the windows. And Dean had walked into the living room to find Sam rubbing at his skull, driving the heels of his hands into his head. Which didn't look like it could be at all comfortable nor did it seem to be helping anything. And all Dean said was, "Y'okay, Sam?" That was it. Those words exactly. And Sam had jumped like he had been electrocuted.

"Dean?" Sam said, turning it into a question, like he wasn't sure, like he didn't know, like he needed confirmation. And though Dean wasn't exactly sure why, it still scared him more than he felt it should have. He didn't want to think about what it meant, for Sam, for Hell, for _them. _Didn't want to think about all the possible reasons Sam could be asking. And that was largely because he had no idea how to confirm something like that. How was he supposed to prove that _he_ was Dean when Lucifer could be making Sam see anything? How was he supposed to prove that when it was possible that Lucifer's Dean was better at being Dean than Dean was?

So he forced a smile, moving to sit in the armchair across from Sam. He relaxed back into it, posture the complete opposite of how Sam was tensed, the complete opposite of how Sam stayed leaning over his knees, every muscle locked in case he was forced to run. "Well, yeah," Dean answered. "The one and only. Who else'd I be?" Even though he knew who else Sam thought he could be. The look faded though, replaced by the one always in Sam's eyes, a little sad, a little rebellious, a lot broken.

That wasn't an improvement. Broken wasn't a step ahead of terrified. At least Dean didn't think so. No. They were just different words for the destroyed that Sam was. They were just two different pieces of what was left of him. And Dean really would give anything for some glue and tape, would give anything for something that could hold his brother together. For something that could _fix_ his brother, for something that would really make him whole again.

Sam just shook his head though, clearing his throat as he rubbed his temple. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." And Dean noticed the way he very carefully _didn't _answer his most recent question, the way he pointedly answered the first question. Not that Dean really needed an answer, not that Dean didn't know what the answer was because that had become very, very clear.

But Dean just decided to ignore it, to let Sam think he had gotten away with it. Build up a false sense of security - the best way to get Sam to talk. Always. And Dean supposed that was where his plan kind of fizzled out and died because he had no idea how he was supposed to build up a sense of security at all under these circumstances, much less a fake one. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothin'." Dean laced his fingers in front of him, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table as he stared into the empty fireplace. "Just bored. There's nothin' to do in this house. Lady doesn't even have cable." Which was criminal. She didn't own a TV. No TV. At all. Honestly, what did she expect him to do with himself? Hell, what did _she_ do with herself? Chat with the dead all day? Have tea-party-apparitions with little invisible tea cups and cookies? Sit in the dark and talk to herself?

...Probably all of the above.

He heard Sam's quiet snicker, loud and clear over the sound of Kathleen's footsteps headed towards the room. It was comforting, no matter how small it was. It was something and anymore, that was all he could hope for.

Kathleen appeared a moment later, wiping her hands on her pants as she moved to the fireplace, grabbing a log from the stand next to it. "It's chilly. Chilly. Yes. Need a fire..." And Dean had to agree, it was cold to the point he half-wondered if the air conditioner was on. If it wasn't, the house was insanely drafty. Which was possible he supposed because he didn't think even Kathleen would turn on the air conditioner and then go light a fire because... well... because that would be stupid. And again, not even Kathleen was that crazy.

At least, he didn't think so.

"Thanks, Kathleen," he said, smiling as the flames flickered to life, a warmth beginning to fill the room. But when he glanced over at Sam, all of said-warmth was sucked from the room. Any comfort, calmness he had felt evaporated in an instant and Dean leaned forward, hands pressing down on the armrests as he prepared to stand up. "Sam?" But Sam was already up, backing from the room, away from the fire. His shoulder slammed into the doorjamb and he barely even reacted, just shifted sideways slightly in order to keep it from happening again.

"I have to- um..." His gaze darted over to Dean and a strange look crossed his face, body straightening. But he was already outside the room. He had already half-run away. So Dean wasn't really sure who he was trying to fool anymore. "I'll be back." And as he disappeared, headed towards their bedroom, Dean knew that he wasn't going to be back anytime soon.

Breath leaving him, he dropped his face into his hands, staring at the floor as he addressed Kathleen. "He's getting worse." He hadn't meant for the accusation to fill his voice but it was there and he couldn't seem to control that. Her fixing Sam was why they were there. If she couldn't, then he would go find someone who could. Anyone who could. But she needed to stop wasting their time, especially when it looked like they had a time limit, a cut-off date approaching. "He's getting worse," he repeated, gaze lifting to the opposite wall. "And _you're_ supposed to be making him better." Progress. Dean wanted progress. Not bloody noses or _"I'll keep trying"_'s from Sam. He wanted something to get _better._ Sooner rather than later.

When he finally looked at her, he found her staring into the fire, completely ignoring the venom in his voice. "Give it time," she sighed, throwing a piece of newspaper into the flames, watching it burn. "Everything grows at its own pace. Everything falls apart similarly." And Dean opened his mouth to snap something back, opened his mouth to say _something. _But then he realized that he didn't know what to say because he honestly had no idea what she even meant. Hands curling into fists as his jaw firmed, he stood, leaving and heading towards the bedroom. Because someone needed to help Sam. And even though he wasn't a professional in the psychic-department, he used to be a professional in the Sam-department. So if she wasn't going to help him, then Dean would.

And he'd hope to god that he wouldn't make it worse.

"Hey, Sam-" His words and his steps stopped short though when he entered the room, watching as his brother jumped, scrambling off the bed, pressing himself into the opposite wall. "Sammy?" But Sam just blinked, shaking his head, scrubbing his hand down his face.

"Dean." This time, it was a fact, a statement, almost a demand. Like it wasn't obvious, like he needed to tell someone that it was true in order to make himself believe it.

"Yeah..." Dean stepped into the room, closing the door behind him as he moved to sit on the edge of his bed. There was a tense silence as he let Sam regain his composure or whatever, as he let Sam come back from wherever he had gone, before he started, "You-"

"Yeah," Sam interrupted, laughing quietly to himself. And Dean half-felt like laughing himself. Not a real laugh, more a borderline-hysterical-laugh. Because Sam knew just what he was going to ask, had given the same answer he always gave, _lied_ just as he always did. Just as Dean always did. And honestly, there was no point to even asking anymore. No point other than the strange hope that maybe, someday, Sam would give him the true answer. No point other than the strange hope that they would someday break the cycle they were stuck in. And Dean had to wonder why the answer to that question had suddenly become so important to him, _when_ it had become so important.

Sam just flopped onto his bed, lying against the headboard. An attempt at normal. A facsimile of normal. "'m fine, just... Yeah. I'm good."

Dean stared at his profile for a moment, analyzing and memorizing the strain lines that had appeared since the last time Dean had seen him. Which was not five hours before. And there were a lot of them. Nodding, he sunk back onto his own bed, staring up at the cracked, ridged ceiling. "Well, that's the most shit I've ever heard in one sentence. Congratulations, Sam. You just broke a record."

"Dean-" And Dean heard the warning, the eye roll, the "Oh my god, would you just _shut up_." But Dean had spent most of his life developing immunity to that tone and there was no way he was giving in to it now.

"No. I mean it, Sam. This has to stop. Cut the damn thing!" he said, tucking his hands behind his head. "You're a hunter- No, you're a _Winchester_. You're not gonna let this thing get you." He turned to look at his brother, as if his staring at him would force the determination that Dean had into Sam's mind. As if letting Sam know the wasn't giving up on this, that he was holding on, would make Sam do the same.

There was a pause, one that never would have been there at the beginning of all of this, wasn't even there when he picked Sam up from Stanford after years of not seeing him. It was tense and heavy, the weight of a thousand words hanging between them. A thousand words that needed to be but couldn't be said.

Finally, Sam sighed, "It's _Hell_, Dean. It's _the cage."_ And Dean watched as he shrugged, eyes not moving from the ceiling as he said in a voice so quiet Dean wasn't even sure he was supposed to hear it, "It already has me."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Thanks everyone for bearing with me. I promise the action will pick up here soon._


	13. Chapter 12

_Warnings: More extreme angst?_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>The next day was the same. Sam woke up, Sam bled, Sam did stuff with bonds, Sam bled, Sam did more stuff with bonds, Sam bled even more, on and on and on until Dean felt like killing someone. Preferably himself. Especially when he stepped into the living room and Sam flinched, entire body nearly jumping off the couch.<p>

"Sam?" he asked, trying very hard not to look at the pile of bloody tissues sitting next to his brother. The _too big_ pile of tissues sitting next to his brother and honestly, that couldn't be good for anyone's health. A person only had so much blood and it could only be replenished so fast. And it seemed like every time Dean turned around, there was something else wrong, something else causing Sam pain and agony he didn't deserve.

Dean had expected a quick brush off, a monosyllabic answer vaguely resembling "Get lost, Dean." But that wasn't what he got. Instead, he watched as Sam hunched in on himself, torso lying on his thighs, eyes flickering around the room as his body started shaking. Full shudders that rocked his entire body, that were just a step away from convulsing. "Sammy?" Dean asked, taking a step forwards. And that was all it took to make Sam's gaze flip up to him, all it took to make Sam's body go rigidly, perfectly still. "Sam-"

Sam didn't move, just stared up at him, stuttering, "Don't- Dean... D-" Dean dropped to his knees and moved to be knelt next to the couch, a short distance away from his brother. He wasn't sure where Sam's head was, didn't know what he was seeing, so he felt it was best to approach the situation slowly and carefully. But that became very hard when he found himself looking into vacant eyes that were nothing like his brother's. And it became even harder when he reached out, whispering Sam's name, and had to watch him flinch and pull away, eyebrows drawing together.

"Hey," Dean continued quietly, voice as soothing as he could possibly make it. "I'm right here... I'm right here." He didn't move this time, didn't try to touch him. He just held his brother's gaze, because Sam was looking for reassurance, proof, confirmation that everything was okay again. And Dean just hoped to God that that was what Sam saw in his eyes. Because at that point, his confidence in that area was not exceptional.

Breath catching, Sam finally nodded and turned away, eyes starting to clear. The haze Dean had seen was gone, as was the distant, "Present but not all here" look. Which was a win... he supposed. And he had to wonder how many times he had thought that, how many times they hadn't made progress when they really should have.

He pushed himself up off his knees and onto the couch, sighing as his joints creaked and popped. Which only served to piss him off more. So he had abused his body. So he was old. With all he had done, he really felt that both he and Sam should have been gifted with joints that never got rusty. Consolation prize for all the shit they went through on a daily basis.

...He'd write someone about it when he got the chance.

"You wanna-"

"No," Sam replied with a small, pathetically fake laugh, one that physically hurt Dean to hear. Pushing his hand through his hair, Sam shook his head and blinked as if he had just woken up, as if he wasn't use to having his eyes open. "No, I'm good." Translation: Sam knew Dean knew Sam wasn't okay and Sam didn't give a shit. Awesome. Great. That made Dean feel a hell of a lot better about everything.

And to even further better the situation, that was when Dean noticed that half of the room had disappeared. Well, not _literally_. It was more that every single thing that was even relatively sharp had vanished, including the fire pokers. And the fire for that matter, but that was a different issue.

"Bobby called," Sam said, voice coming out of nowhere. Because honestly, Dean had figured Sam was too busy trying to shove his eye through his skull with the heel of his hand to converse. But still, it took Dean a moment to answer, him much too busy staring at the picture frame that had been turned around to face the wall. Call him old-fashioned or strange or whatever, but he had always figured that most people stood their pictures _away_ from the wall. So you could actually... y'know... _see them_. But then again, he had only had a few pictures/picture frames in his life so it was possible he was just insane.

Turning back to his brother, he remembered he had been asked a question, knew he was supposed to be responding to something. So he just said, "Hm?" And he tried to ignore the strangeness after that. He tried to just let it go. But after about two seconds, his eyes flickered over to the frame again. Because honestly, that was just stupid. If you didn't want to look at the picture, why wouldn't you just throw it away or pack it in a box or something? Why would you leave it there like that?

Unless the picture had misbehaved and it was being punished. Which, knowing Kathleen, was actually possible.

"Bobby just called," Sam repeated, eyes held shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's checking out some possible big-mouth sightings not far from here." Dean nodded, taking the time his brother wasn't looking at him to calculate the amount of concern this situation warranted so that he could manufacture and plaster it across his face when required. And yes, he knew he was supposed to be worried about stuff like this. And he knew that he was supposed to care, knew it was supposed to be his job to take care of the evil monsters that attacked civilizations that weren't nearly as innocent as they pretended to be. But really, the appeal had kind of worn off. He had other things, _more important things,_ to worry about. "He needs backup."

Dean flinched. He shouldn't have. After all this time, he should have been better at controlling himself. Hell, he _was_ better at controlling himself. And it really sucked that he couldn't even do that anymore. But it was so blunt, so clear in what it meant that he couldn't help it.

Swallowing, he answered. "Nah, I think Bobby can handle himself for a couple days. Don't you?" His face was going to snap, was going to break apart, shatter into a million useless, unhelpful pieces. His smile was pulled so tight that there was no way anything could withstand that strain. But if Sam noticed, he didn't say anything, just rubbed at his eye as a small tremor ran through him.

"You don't have to stay," Sam said, so calmly, no accusation in the words at all as he dropped his hands to his lap, staring into the fireplace. "Actually, it'd probably be better if you didn't. Distance might weaken the bond. Might not be as dangerous."

Dean just leaned back into the cushions, draping his arm over the back. "Or it could do absolutely nothing and instead of being five feet from each other if something happened, we'd be miles." And Dean didn't want that. He didn't want to be halfway across the country and "sense" that Sam was being tortured, was _dying_ inside himself. He couldn't live with that. Rolling his head to stare at his brother's profile, he pursed his lips, finding Sam's eyes distant again. But he was just thinking this time, Dean could tell. He was in his own mind, not his memories, not in the bond. He was where he was supposed to be. At least, for the most part.

"I'm- I'm learning to control it. You wouldn't have to worry about getting pulled in again. I can..." Sam rolled his shoulders back, eyes falling closed. "I can put a block up. It doesn't work with Lucifer 'cuz... well... he's _Lucifer_. But it'd probably work with ours. I could put it up when Hell comes through so you wouldn't... You wouldn't have to see that."

And Dean bypassed whatever part of that Sam wanted him to focus on and instead smacked his brother in the side with the back of his hand. And he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or feel guilty about the fact that Sam nearly launched himself off of the couch as a result. "See? Told you you'd kick this thing! Already putting up walls? Lucifer'll be bored again in no time." And honestly, Sam didn't need to stare at him like that. His mouth was hanging open, an incredulous set to his eyes that stayed like that for way longer than Dean was comfortable with. Or happy with, for that matter. Clearing his throat, he added, "I thought it sounded good." Because he did, goddamnit.

"Dude, who are you?" Sam asked. And Dean wasn't really sure how to answer that, wasn't even quite sure what the question was. Not that it mattered. Because in the next moment, Sam was shaking his head, dismissing any response he could come up with. "Whatever. You need to hunt. Go help Bobby. If it's a leviathan thing-"

"Then Bobby wouldn't be stupid enough to go in without backup." And at that point, Dean was sick of the dancing around, sick of the subtext. He knew what Sam wanted and so did Sam. Yet, neither of them would say it. And Dean supposed that was part of their problem, the _not saying it_. "You tryin' to get rid of me, Sammy?"

"I just-" Sam huffed, pushing his hand through his hair again as he stood up, starting to pace. Dean stood up as well but stayed silent, did so because his brother was supposed to say something important, was supposed to say something to clear this whole situation up for them both. But he didn't. He just clapped his hands in front of him and pressed his thumbs into his eyes. "I've heard some things... I don't know if they're from Lucifer or a crossed wire or what but... The leviathans are doing something big and I really think one of us needs to go check it out." And Dean knew that meant him because hell, there was no way Sam was going anywhere. And because of that, there was no way Dean was going anywhere. So the leviathans were just out of luck, weren't they?

"'cuz you '_heard_' it? From _Lucifer?" _Dean repeated, because if Sam wanted him to go, that was one thing. It hurt like hell and he wouldn't do it, but he'd understand. But _this_? With everything that had happened, Dean was supposed to take a tip from _Lucifer? _Yeah, no. Lucifer was tearing apart his baby brother's brain. He wasn't going anywhere, no matter what anyone said, much less _Lucifer_. "Sam, he's got half-control of your _mind_. He could be doing anything and you'd never know."

"I can tell the difference," Sam snapped, "after it happens." And Dean could see the breaking point right on the horizon, the end of the argument they had just plowed into. That didn't stop him. It should have, but it didn't. Because there was this base-level fear, a hurt that kept him going. Because it was true. Who knew what Sam was seeing? How much he was seeing? _Who_ he was seeing? And all he could think about was the look on his brother's face in that motel parking lot.

Which was why the next words came out of his mouth without his permission. "Like you know what happened at the motel wasn't real? Like you know that wasn't me?" And like a plug had been pulled, all the color simply drained away from Sam's face.

"What motel?" The heaviness that settled over the room nearly sucked all the air from Dean's lungs, the argument taking on a different form than intended. And Dean couldn't see the pain, hidden, buried underneath the anger in his brother's eyes. But he knew it was there, could feel it in his chest. "What motel are you talking about, Dean?"

"After you left. Before- Before you- Before we found you," he finally decided, stopping his mind from going any further in that direction than necessary. "I had a nightmare- Which must've actually been the bond or something, I don't know... But I saw myself standing in the parking lot. And I was you."

Sam's face had closed off to the point where Dean couldn't tell what was going on in his head at all, couldn't tell what he was thinking or even _if_ he was thinking at all. "You saw all that, though?" Sam asked, quieter than he had been since Dean had walked in. And Dean wasn't sure what that meant, wasn't sure if it meant anything, which, he supposed, was probably Sam's plan all along.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, shifting between his feet, as he replied, "Yeah. Saw it, felt it, the whole nine-yards." Sam didn't answer, eyes falling away as he tried to put the pieces together. But just like when they were kids, there was always one piece missing from the goddamn puzzle. Always one, sometimes more. And no matter what, the picture was never finished. "But don't you get it, Sam? We don't know what kind of crap he could be feeding you-"

"Yeah, m'kay. Do whatever you want, Dean," Sam interrupted, gaze jerking away from the ground.

"Sam-" But his brother was already gone, had already shoved passed him and disappeared into the house.

The empty doorway held his gaze for several seconds as he waited, a part of him wishing that Sam would just come back and say that everything was fine. But then, if Dean Winchester were to really get what he wished for, he would wake up someday and find that the last several years of his life had just been a really horrible nightmare. He'd wake up to find that Sam had never died in Cold Oak, to find that his first failure as a big brother, the first time he hadn't protected Sam, the first time he had ever lied to his brother, had never happened. And he'd wake up to find that the faith Sam had had in him before that moment, the belief that Dean would never let anything happen to him, would still be there.

But then, angels sucked, God was on sabbatical, and djinn were horrific blood-sucking freaks.

So no. No wishes for him.

And how unfair was that?

"The leviathans are strategizing."

"Holy f-" Flipping around, adrenaline surging through his veins, he let go of the death grip he had on his chest in order to throw a pillow at their oh so gracious host who seemed intent on giving him a heart attack. "Never do that again. You're lucky I'm not armed." Or not so lucky. Because at that moment, he really wanted to kill something and had absolutely nothing to kill something with. Which suck for him.

She stared at him from the kitchen doorway for a moment and okay, that was just creepy. She really needed a bell or something, like a cat collar, to let him know when she was coming. That would significantly decrease his chances of heart failure. "Which would you choose?" she asked.

He swallowed and sunk onto the edge of the couch, scrubbing his hand down his face. "State Capitols for six-hundred." If she wanted a serious answer, she really should have asked a legitimate question and _not _have given him a heart attack. Besides, that was totally what he would choose. He'd been to practically every capitol anyway.

And yes, he was pretty sure that his chest was about to explode.

"You want to fix Sam?" she asked, more a statement than anything else but it was still a little offensive. Because that wasn't even debatable, shouldn't have even been called into question. Because there was only one answer.

"Of course."

The look she gave him was appraising, considering, almost disbelieving. And Dean decided he didn't like it or appreciate it. Actually, he was pretty sure he felt insulted. "Do you regret it?" she asked and he figured he was supposed to get it, that he was supposed to understand the question well enough to know what to say back. But this was seriously like one of those tests that had him staring out the window the entire time because honestly, how do they expect him to give a logical answer when they can't even given him a logical, understandable question?

Rolling her eyes as if he was the slowest person on earth, she repeated, "The deal you made. Bringing Sam back. Do you regret it?" Though he didn't really care if she did think he was the slowest person on earth because her questions were stupid.

Regardless, he didn't need to think about the answer, barely even hesitated to wonder why she was asking. Because despite the fact that the question was random and sudden and vague, there was only one answer. It was the same one that had burned in his gut since the moment he had made the deal, the one he knew with a bone-deep certainty that hadn't nor ever would change, one that was _impossible _to change. "Never."

After that, she left the room, just nodded and drifted away. And he figured he should be a little worried about the fact that she even knew about the deal in the first place. But he really couldn't find it in himself to be.

Because after everything, giving that answer, _knowing_ it so thoroughly, filled him with a sense of peace he hadn't known in years. Because it was true. And even though he had screwed up the natural order and pissed off Death and Heaven and Hell and every in between by doing it, even though he knew everything that happened after he did it, even though he knew how everything ended, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

And he felt something inside him settle, felt something that had been torn start stitching itself back up. So he took a moment soak in the feeling, but only a moment.

In the next, he was moving from the room.

He had a little brother to look out for.

* * *

><p>"Yeah, Sam. It's okay. You're okay," he whispered, fingers wrapped tightly around his brother's bicep.<p>

When he had gotten back to their room, Sam had already been asleep, curled in on his side, facing that goddamn light that Dean was really debating shooting out. And even though he had found it odd that Sam was asleep given the fact that Lucifer tended to turn it up when Sam was unconscious, he had just written it off as exhaustion on Sam's part and a lack of juice on Lucifer's. Not that that made Dean feel particularly good.

But then the nightmares had started. Or, as he quickly realized, Dream-Hell, one Lucifer had somehow managed to lock Sam in. And Sam had locked Dean _out_ with that stupid wall-thingy, leaving him unable to do anything more useful than sit on the edge of the bed and watch. And get Kathleen, though that hadn't been helpful either. She was all, "There's nothing to be done blah blah blah blah," and had gone and disappeared. Completely. As in, M.I.A. or AWOL. He wasn't really sure. And he may have been concerned. Maybe. If he wasn't too busy being concerned about his little brother whom she was supposed to be making better.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, raspy and raw. In pain. Sam was in pain. And Dean was really glad Kathleen was M.I.A because if she wasn't, she would be experiencing the full extent of a pissed off Dean Winchester. Because she was a fail and Lucifer was having a party in Sam's freaking skull. Which _wasn't supposed to be happening._

Hesitantly reaching up, Dean pushed his fingers through his brother's long hair, whispering words that were completely nonsensical. Though he didn't think it really mattered. Sam most likely couldn't understand what he was saying anyways. All that mattered was that he was saying _something_. When Sam was little, Dean's voice was enough to calm him down, was enough to make the nightmares go away. But that was a long time ago. So the fact that Sam's forehead started to even out, the fact that his thrashing lessened, was actually surprising in a nice kind of way.

"It's just a dream, Sammy. Just a dream." Though chances were that wasn't true and he was lying. Chances were that Lucifer was being abusive in real time. But whatever it was, Dean was getting through, was making it somewhat better. Because the babbling had stopped; the _screaming had stopped_. The only hint that anything had been wrong was a small, hitched breath every now and then.

His incoherent stream of words died though when the sound of the front door opening reached his ears, the sound of footsteps traveling across the floor in the hallway, the sound of a hand on the walls. Body tensing, instincts kicking in, his eyes scoured the room for a weapon. And finding one was probably his biggest mistake. Because once he did, once he stood up to go get it and pulled away from his brother, Sam started screaming again, started thrashing and sobbing and babbling and whimpering, shouts getting jammed and stuck in his throat, tearing it to pieces.

"Sam-" Dean hissed, lunging back towards the bed, hand falling to his brother's head. "Shhh... _Quiet__."_ And that was all it took, all it took to make Sam's breathing slow, to erase the strain lines that had appeared around his eyes, across his forehead. That was all it took to leave Sam in a relaxed sleep and while a part of Dean was incredibly glad for that, felt like jumping up and down and celebrating, the rest of him was too focused, too worried to allow himself that luxury.

Because by that point, the footsteps had disappeared and so had their reason for being there.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for reading! Again, action will pick up soon. Promise!_


	14. Chapter 13

_A/N: Second chapter posted today! Look at that! I feel so productive! :-)_

_Again, thank you to those of you who reviewed, favorited, and story alerted this! It means a lot!_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>After spending the majority of the night sitting on the edge of his brother's bed, Dean now found himself standing outside the doorway to the living room. Apparently, skulking was becoming a habit of his.<p>

"Cut the tie," Kathleen whispered. "Picture him cutting the tie..." Sam's face kept screwing up in a combination of annoyance and pain, tremors running through his body. And Dean could feel it. It was faint, hidden in the back of his mind but it was there, a phantom ache, a tension like his brain was being pulled apart. And he knew he was only getting the edge of it so he could barely imagine what Sam was feeling. It had to be bad though, had to hurt like hell.

Pun so not intended.

So when the nosebleed started, Dean made an executive decision and burst into the room, door bouncing off the wall. "Okay, break it up," he said, arms swinging, hands clapping in front of him. And he was apparently was becoming very good at skulking because Sam clearly had no idea he was anywhere near that room. Sam's eyes shot open and he almost fell off the couch. Which was a moment Dean was going to have to remember for future abuse, for when Sam got better. "He'll have to continue his sawing later."

"But, Dean," Kathleen started, turning to him with an amount of panic on her face that didn't at all fit the current situation, "this is a time sensitive issue! Your brother-"

"Is done," Dean interrupted. Holding his hand out to Sam, he waved his fingers, encouraging him to take it. "C'mon. We're getting you something to eat." But of course, Sam didn't take his hand, not at first. His eyes kept darting between it and Dean's face, as if trying to decide whether or not it was booby trapped and if it was, whether or not he wanted to be the booby. Which, okay, _ouch_. But Dean understood. Kind of.

Glancing over at Kathleen, Sam shifted to the edge of the couch. "I'm not-"

"Yes, you are hungry," Dean returned, stepping closer. "You get much thinner, you're gonna disappear on me, man. Sasquatches need to be fed. 'cuz they clearly can't feed themselves." He waved his fingers again, silently begging his brother to just _take it_ and to stop looking at him like an insane person. Which he finally did. Take his hand that is. He never stopped looking at him like he was an insane person. Though Dean was pretty sure that was Sam's default look when it came to him anymore. But regardless of either of their mental health, Sam let himself be pulled to his feet, only glancing back at Kathleen once.

Pulling a tissue out of his pocket, he offered it to his brother, making him take it to stop the flow of blood running from his nose. And honestly, the crazy psychic lady was really starting to piss him off. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," he said quietly, shooting a glare at Kathleen before pushing Sam from the room, directing him to the kitchen.

"I _can_ feed myself-" Sam started to say but did Dean care? Nope. So was Dean going to listen? Nope. So he pulled open the door to the refrigerator, sticking his head inside.

"Heated up lasagna or... this greenish stuff?" he asked, pulling out a container of something soupy and disgusting. And honestly, Dean didn't want to know what that was. Because it kind of looked like snot. Alien snot. "M'kay! Second executive decision of the day. We're going with the lasagna 'cuz that stuff?" he said, shaking the container. And he tried to chalk the gurgling noise he heard up to his imagination but he wasn't confident enough in that to not drop the container in the fridge as quickly as possible. Wiping his hand on his shirt, he continued, "Is dangerous."

"Dean..." Sam started to say, shifting on his feet. But Dean had no interest whatsoever in whatever Sam seemed to think he should have interest in. So he had no problem talking right over him.

"Kathleen!" he shouted, stepping into the doorway, staring out into the hall. "Want lasagna?" But no one answered and his eyes narrowed, glancing over at Sam who shrugged, shaking his head. And the strange feeling that pulled at the pit of Dean's stomach, the one he always associated with danger, with _monsters_, was strong, ordering him to go check it out. But Sam was already gone, vanished into the living room. And Dean didn't like that, didn't like the way Sam moving away made the feeling stronger.

His brother's lips were pursed when he came back, confusion on his face. "She left. Shoes and coat're gone." And Dean figured that was important, figured he should be investigating this more thoroughly. But there was _lasagna_. So shook his head, deciding to think about it more later. Maybe. If he was given a reason to.

"Probably went to find something she could actually eat," he sighed, moving back into the kitchen. Because that was entirely possible. Kathleen was really weird. Chances were she disappeared like this all the time. For no apparent reason and without telling anyone. She probably just wandered around outside for a couple hours, "She's holding out on us, Sammy," he grumbled, pulling the lasagna out of the refrigerator.

He could feel Sam's eyes on his back, burning into his skull as he dumped the leftovers into a tray and shoved them into the oven. His brother was never very good at concealing emotions, suspicion, confusion, or otherwise. Especially around Dean. So the question Dean knew he had was plastered across his entire face.

Turning around, Dean leaned against the oven, arms crossed over his chest. "What're you looking at, bitch?" he asked, making sure the note of teasing in his voice would be heard. "Not my fault all the good looks went to the first born."

And Sam smiled, an actual smile that almost made it all the way to his eyes. As he ducked his head, turning to go sit at the kitchen table, Dean felt a warmth spread through his chest. A comfortable warmth, as familiar as something he hadn't felt in years could be.

And when he forgot to set the timer and nearly burned the food, the way Sam laughed at him only made it spread.

* * *

><p>"Stop it, Sam," he whispered from his bed, driving the heels of his hands into his temples. "It's not working. Go to sleep. <em>Please<em>." And he needed Sam to listen to him because honestly, he was about to go insane. Fingernails on a chalkboard. That's what it felt like, a phantom scratching at the back of his brain that wouldn't stop no matter how much he ignored it.

And if he had the energy to get up, he would have grabbed his gun and shot his head full of rock salt because that phantom had to go.

He saw Sam flinch, like he hadn't realized Dean was still awake. Once he did, he rolled over, turning away from the goddamn bathroom light that Dean really was going to blow up one of these days. "It's gotta work, Dean. It _has to_."

"Not tonight," Dean answered, rolling onto his side so that they were facing each other across the gap between the beds. "Just sleep, man. Deal with it tomorrow."

"It's not that easy." And Dean sighed, tucking his arm under his head, using it as a pillow. Because the pillow he had was kind of pathetic.

"Is it ever? What's wrong this time? Why isn't it that easy?" he asked, watching Sam's gaze drift away. And he couldn't let that happen because he didn't know where he would go, didn't know if he would come back. But at least the scratching had stopped which meant Sam had decided to leave the bond alone. For now.

Without the tearing in the back of his brain, he felt his eyelids growing heavy, felt his body settle into the mattress. "'cuz it's not," Sam snapped, rubbing his hand down his face.

"Well, that's helpful. Why _not_, Sam? Help me out here-"

"'cuz I can't go to sleep, okay!?" Dean pushed himself up onto his elbow, sleep completely forgotten in that short period of time. And Sam looked away, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. The thing was, Dean understood. The nightmares he had had of Hell were bad enough. Being psychically attached to Lucifer? He couldn't imagine what Sam must've been going through. Especially because the last time he slept, he was locked inside his head the entire night.

So that's why Dean kicked his blankets off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, night air like a shock to his bed-warmed body. He stood, smirking as Sam's confused gaze flickered over to him. "Where're you going?" he asked, like Dean was the certifiably insane one. Which, okay, was probably justified as he was probably certifiably insane as well. But in this case, it was all about relativity.

Pursing his lips, Dean just shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "I need coffee. Want some?" And he left the room, listening to the floorboards squeak a moment later as his brother moved to follow him.

Reaching the hallway, his trip to the kitchen was derailed when a loud snore erupted from the living room. And that wasn't right. Because there were bedrooms in this house. There were _many_ bedrooms in this house from what he could tell. Which meant no one should be sleeping on the couch and consequently, no one should be _snoring_ on the couch.

Standing in the doorway, he stared at their host, completely zonked out on a chair. And he didn't really get it, didn't understand why she was there when she really shouldn't have been. "Dude," he called as Sam entered the hallway, "wanna get me a bucket of warm water?"

"What?" Sam asked, coming to stand at Dean's side. "Wha- _No_. What the hell, Dean?" And Dean just shrugged. Honestly, it seemed like a pretty good idea to him. It would at least be something to pass the time, keep them awake since apparently, sleep wasn't on the cards for either of them. And besides, it was her fault for falling asleep in such a vulnerable location.

"Just wanted to see if the legends were true." He turned around to receive the full-force of the Sam Winchester Patented Bitch-Face. And he wondered if he should be concerned about the fact that seeing that again made him so happy... He'd decide later. "What?"

Sam just rolled his eyes, starting towards the kitchen. "You already tested that in eighth grade, Dean. On _me_. I think you've proved the point." He disappeared inside the room and Dean took that opportunity to get a closer look at what was going on in the living room. Because Kathleen had her own bed. And yeah, she was weird. That was a more than established fact. But... _really?_

Stepping over a discarded shoe, Dean edged around the coffee table, eyes searching out any abnormalities. But as he wasn't really sure what he was looking for, this task was actually kind of hard. Standing behind the couch, he found himself staring at that picture frame again, the one facing the wall. And he knew he shouldn't. He knew it was facing that direction for a reason. But then again, all that knowledge did was make him more curious, like putting a "Do Not Enter" sign on a door. Which was scientifically proven to be stupid.

So he flipped it around, finding himself staring at an old picture of Kathleen. She was several years younger than the Kathleen he knew, her hair falling in a braid past her shoulder. And she didn't look crazed, which he supposed was the most amazing part of the entire thing. She looked normal. But that wasn't what he was focusing on, wasn't the strange part of the picture. Well... the strang_est_ part of the picture. That title belonged to the boy standing next to her. He looked young, only slightly younger than Kathleen looked. But he had her eyes. They were the same. And he knew they had to be related.

Shaking his head, he turned the picture around, glancing back over his shoulder at it as he walked into the kitchen. "Did Kathleen ever mention-" But Dean's train of thought was instantly derailed as he heard the sound of glass breaking. And he supposed that was what he got for not looking into a room before he entered it. Because that simple action went against every hunter instinct that had ever been ingrained in him. And he supposed he should be punished for being so stupid.

_"Dean,"_ Sam gasped, a slightly hysterical edge to his voice and Dean flipped around, eyes immediately locking on his brother's face, searching the area for any sign of a threat. On reflex, he reached for his gun, realizing he didn't have it on him because he was in his sleep clothes which only made him curse at himself. Because that was stupid action number two. And if not for the fact Sam couldn't sleep, he would have thrown himself back into bed and tried again in the morning.

But despite all of that and the tenseness in his muscles that told him something was very wrong, he didn't see anything, couldn't find any sign of anything dangerous. Not that that meant anything in their business. "Sam!? What is it?" He edged around the side of the room, back to the wall as he closed in on his brother. "What's wrong?" And it took that long for him to realize that Sam was staring at him, eyes wide, locked onto his face, broken coffee cup clutched in his now bleeding hand.

"Sam. Dude. You there?" he asked, stepping towards his brother only to have him flinch and step back. And now Dean was worried, was terrified. Because it was obvious to him that Sam was too. "Sammy?" Voice was softer, more careful, because he didn't know what they were dealing with, didn't know what Sam was dealing with. And aside from a strange pulling in the back of his brain, an almost numb feeling spreading there like he had been shot with Novocain, he couldn't tell if this had anything to do with Hell. "Sam?"

But then Sam's eyes cleared, shaking his head slightly. And he looked okay again, a small smile pulling at his lips that was so fake, Barbie would be proud. "Dean," he repeated, relief in his voice and Dean was about to answer, was about to demand to know what the hell that was about, but a dripping noise attracted both of their attentions, guiding it to Sam's hand. "Oh," Sam mumbled, as if he hadn't even realized it had happened. Which, Dean realized, he probably hadn't.

"Shit," Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around Sam's wrist, peeling his brother's fingers open. It wasn't bad, nothing they hadn't had before or even done to themselves when they needed blood for spells. But it was there and there was no way Dean was going to let it go without taking care of it. Glancing up at his brother's face, he picked sticky pieces of glass off Sam's hand, setting them on the island. "Jeez, Sasquatch..."

Reaching for the paper towel rack, he tore off a piece and dabbed it against the cut, mopping up the excess blood. "I can do it myself." The protest was half-hearted, more said because he felt he had to than anything else. And of course, Dean ignored it, pulling him over to the sink, turning on the warm water.

"Hold that there," he said quietly, sticking his brother's hand under the running water. And he knew it had to hurt, knew it had to sting, but of course, Sam said nothing, didn't even wince. "I'm gonna go see if there's any alcohol." Pulling open cabinets, he heard Sam chuckle, the sound strange and surprising given the situation.

"Really, Dean? Though I s'pose you have been dry for awhile-"

"It's not for me, asshole," Dean sighed, throwing open the doors under the sink. Because honestly, who knew where she hid her stash? It had to be there somewhere. "It's for your hand." Pulling back when he found nothing, he paused, staring at the sink. "Though maybe a little for me." He smiled at his brother and disappeared into the bathroom connected to the kitchen, looking for some rubbing alcohol at the very least. "All I'm sayin', Sammy, is that we have a long night ahead of us," he called, grabbing the peroxide bottle, stepping from the room. Waving it, he continued, "I say we take shots."

Sam laughed, pulling his hand from the water. He turned the faucet off and Dean grabbed another paper towel before Sam could even think about doing it himself. "You try to drink that stuff, I'll be driving you to the hospital for a stomach pump," Sam said as Dean took his hand, holding it over the sink as he poured the disinfectant. And that made Sam wince, made him try to pull his hand away, but then, Dean had known that was coming. It was ridiculous really, the fact that Sam could sit through getting stitched up with barely more than a twitch but when the alcohol came out, you would think Dean had dumped battery acid on him. Which was why he simply tightened his hold, grabbing the bandage off the counter as he started to wrap Sam's hand.

"Aw, Sammy, you know I'm never one to back down from a challenge," he answered, smirk pulling at his lips. And Sam just snorted, taking his hand back when Dean finished with it. "But you wouldn't be up to driving so I s'pose I'll have to pass this time." He clapped his brother on the shoulder, going to put the stuff back in the bathroom.

"Yeah, like you aren't tired," Sam shot back when Dean returned to the room, finally going to make the coffee that had been the point of this entire venture in the first place. Because he needed caffeine. It was the light of his life, the wind beneath his wings, the other half of his heart. The goddamn drug that would keep him from passing out within the next two seconds.

"Me? Naw. I'm a machine, dude. Don't need sleep." And before he could figure out where the bag was, Sam was pouring coffee into the coffee maker, getting it to start far faster than Dean would have ever been able to. Because most technology was evil to the point he was sure at least half of all electronics made were possessed. With special consideration made to the coffee makers.

After a minute, the machine beeped and Dean felt relief wash over him. Because he was _tired_ now that the sawing in his head had stopped. But he had to stay up, had to. He was staying up because Sam was staying up and that was how it was working. So Mr. Sandman or whatever it was could go screw himself.

Sam picked up the two cups now filled with hot, steaming, coffee-smelling _coffee_. And Dean lunged for his but unfortunately, was not fast enough for his super ninja brother who was supposed to be sleep-deprived. Because Sam yanked it away, a smirk pulling at his lips as he stepped back. "Nope. This is all mine." And Dean watched as he started walking towards the table, calling over his shoulder, "You're a _machine_, dude. 'member?" Sam started laughing as Dean growled to himself, sinking into the chair next to the one his brother had taken at the table.

"Give," he said simply and Sam just smirked at him, taking an exaggerated sip of his drink.

"Mmm... That's good. Way better than the stuff at the gas stations." And the innocent look on his face, the way he peered over the rim like he had no idea what he was doing wrong, made Dean bite his lip, fist clenching under the table.

"Give- give the coffee," he said, holding his hand out, gesturing towards the full cup placed as far away from him as physically possible.

"Nope. Machines don't drink. You'll overheat or fry or something." Dean just stared at him, the most pissed off look on his face he could muster. Though it didn't seem to be working too well because Sam just continued drinking like everything was perfect. Which it very much wasn't. At all.

And apparently the little flicker of Dean's eyes towards the cup was a dead giveaway because Sam was already standing, both cups in hand before Dean had even made a move. "Sammy-"

"Go tighten your bolts or something." Dean felt himself push down the smile he felt building, trying to maintain his mock annoyance. Because Sam was laughing and smiling and this was _right_. And if he had anything to say about it, it was going to stay that way.

Huffing, he stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "Give the coffee or I'm pretty sure this machine'll explode and the shrapnel'll cut your arm off."

"You sure, Dean? 'cuz I don't wanna be responsible-" And Dean was there, snatching the cup from his hand and guzzling it down. Only to remember when Sam's genuine laughter cut through his mind that the coffee was _hot_ and not at all something that should be consumed all at one time.

"Agh, god!" Dean gasped, dropping the cup onto the table, breathing deeply as he waited for the burning to fade. Which it didn't for far longer than he was happy about. And now his mouth was burnt. Great. "Shit." Turning to Sam, his eyes narrowed, watching as his brother casually sipped his coffee between barks of laughter. "Bitch."

And as he turned away to get ice from the fridge, he almost could have sworn he heard Sam say, "Jerk," in response.

But then again, it could've just been his imagination.

* * *

><p>The next night, he found himself sitting on his bed, toeing off his shoes as the cell phone dialed. He made Sam promise to try and sleep tonight because coffee wasn't going to keep internal organs from shutting down, no matter what his brother tried to tell him. So that's what Dean was doing, finally going to sleep. And he was <em>exhausted<em>. All-nighters weren't agreeing with him as they once had. Though deep down, he knew he probably wasn't going to end up sleeping tonight either. Because Sam probably wasn't going to sleep tonight. Hell flashbacks all day didn't make for a particularly relaxed, restful person.

"Hey, Bobby. Just checkin' in," he said, tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled off his socks, tossing them in the general direction of their suitcases. "What've ya got?"

_"Definite leviathan thing,"_ he answered and Dean stood, eyebrows raising as Sam came into the room, swiping at his nose. "_Actually, multiple definite leviathan things. I've been trackin' 'em 'round near where you are. Different groups of different numbers. There doesn't seem to be a pattern to what they've been doin' yet, but I'll keep lookin'."_

"'kay," Dean said, throwing a sleep shirt at Sam who flinched and barely caught it. "Keep me posted."

_"Will do. There's a loner here tonight. Gonna see what happens when I chop its head off."_

Dean chuckled to himself, watching as Sam all but fell into bed.

"You do that. Have fun, Bobby." There was a sigh and a grunted goodbye before the man hung up, silence filling the line. Dean snapped his phone closed, dropping it onto his suitcase. "Tired, man?"

And Sam just nodded, pulling his T-shirt over his head as he moved to the bathroom. "'m gonna take a shower. See ya in a bit." He disappeared into the room, leaving Dean alone to stare after him. And Dean was going to wait, was going to find out what had happened, was going to ask why he kept flinching and jumping every time Dean walked into a room, every time he so much as _looked_ at him.

But the second he sat down on the bed, he found himself laying down. And then he found his eyes closing. And then he somehow, miraculously, found himself asleep.

* * *

><p><em>"Hey, Sam-"<em>

_ "-'m gonna-out of here- Not letting-stay-Sammy-"_

_ "Lies... I've never lied to you, Sam..."_

Pounding heart lodged in his throat, chest unable to pull in enough air, Dean surged upwards, hands clenching and unclenching around the knife he now held in his hand. It had been under his pillow, just as it always was and always would be. But now, it was comforting, a reminder that there were still things out there that he could control, things that he could put down with just the skills he had.

Not that that helped their current situation.

Turning his head, he jumped when he saw Sam's wide eyes staring back at him from the other bed. The light from the bathroom shone behind him, causing his front to be completely shrouded in shadow. And had it been anyone else, it would have been really creepy. Actually, regardless of the fact he knew it was Sam, it was still creepy. "Damnit, Sam... Don't do that," he sighed, running his hand down his face.

Sam didn't answer at first, but he saw the contemplative look in his eyes, knew he was thinking something. Which was never a good thing where Sam was concerned. "Should we talk about what happens when I lose it now or later?" Sam asked and Dean dropped his hand to his lap with an audible smacking sound, rolling his head to glare at his brother.

"Shut up, Sam," he answered, the warning in his voice unmistakable. But Sam didn't listen. Not that that was particularly surprising. He never listened, especially when Dean desperately wanted him to.

"I choose now-"

"I said, shut up," Dean growled, dropping his knife so he wouldn't be tempted to stab himself with it. Instead, he fisted the bed sheets, closing his eyes.

"-You're gonna have to end it 'cuz when the devil wants out-"

"Oh for god's- _Shut up!_" Dean shouted, feeling far less relief than he should have that Sam actually listened to him and went quiet. The Sam of Stanford never would have. The Sam he knew before he went to Hell never would have shut up. And that just made Dean realize all over again that despite the few steps that had been made in the right direction over the last few days, there was so far to go. They were only the beginning, if even that. For all he knew, they weren't even out of the starting gate. "_Please_," he added, simply to make himself feel better. Not that it worked, but still.

And it stayed silent for several minutes, giving Dean the time to replace the knife under the pillow and drive the heels of his hands into his eyes. "We've gotta talk about it, Dean."

"No," Dean responded, lying down and pulling the covers up to his chin. "No, we don't. 'night, Sam."

"But-"

"_No_," he snapped, rolling over onto his back. "I've been working my ass off trying to keep you sane and you keep actin' like you don't even give a shit. So shut up." And yeah, there were a lot of better ways to word that, a lot of ways that wouldn't have had Sam turning over, putting his back to Dean as he faced the bathroom light. But at that point, he hadn't had the mental capabilities to care. And as he squeezed his eyes shut, images of Hell, _Sam's_ _Hell_ playing in his mind, he tried not to see the parallels between what he just said and his own year before his deal came due. When Sam spent all his time looking for ways to save him and he spent most of his trying to forget. And if he was thinking it, he knew that Sam was thinking it too.

And in the silence that stretched between them, there was a finality, as if something was about to end. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: The proverbial shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. If you're still reading, thanks for sticking with me!_


	15. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>Sam could feel it building, a pressure that put his brain seconds away from exploding. It kept pushing and pushing and pushing until he was sure he was about to lose all semblance of independent thought. Which was probably the point.<p>

Something major was about to go down, endgame approaching, not more than a few hours away. Because you could only hold onto something for so long, could only push yourself so hard before you blacked out, before your body just _broke_. And he knew that, had seen it coming for months. But he'd hoped. And he supposed that was where he went wrong.

He wasn't strong enough anymore. His outside reinforcements were gone, destroyed, smashed and strewn in pieces across the ground. And without them, it was just him. And he'd been holding himself there without the chance of respite for far too long already.

_Breaking... Slipping... Sliding away..._

His muscles were burning, eyes starting to go dark around the edges. Because Lucifer was demanding, was yanking and pulling and tugging and there wasn't much time before he would have to go with it, would have to let gravity take him down.

Because what he had wasn't enough. Not enough to give him the rest he needed so badly. Not enough to keep what was about to happen from happening.

Though he supposed that was partially his fault. Because so much time had passed, so many words and punches. Retribution... Redemption... Fix it, fix it, fix it... But he couldn't. He couldn't fix it. No matter what he did. It was never ever enough...

And he couldn't try anymore.

As much as he could see in everything Dean had done the previous night that he was going to try to be a big brother again, Sam wasn't sure he was going to be able to let him be.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to my readers, reviewers, favoriters, story alerters, and everyone else for sticking with this!_


	16. Chapter 15

__A/N: Thanks again to all my readers! I know this hasn't been the most consistent of update schedules, so I really appreciate everyone who is still bothering to read this. ;-)__

__Second chapter of the day posted!__

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>It was the fire-poker that solidified his current state of panic. So therefore, all the wrong in Dean's world could easily be traced back to it, to that stupid, useless piece of metal.<p>

Remember when it and everything sharp in the entire house had mysteriously disappeared? Yeah? Well Dean really wished it had stayed that way. Because he had just walked into the living room and found his brother staring straight at the tip of it, an amount of contemplation, of _intent_ on his face that was wrong. So very, very wrong. Wrong to the point Dean's brain just kind of up and died, going completely silent for the first time in what felt like forever, while his body began to hum with an energy he couldn't place.

"Sammy?" he breathed, hands gripping either side of the doorjamb, nails leaving marks in the paint. And as if that wasn't enough. As if the look of pure wonder on his brother's face the moment before wasn't enough to nearly kill him, Sam had to launch himself back off the chair, head jerking up as his eyes searched for Dean.

Sam threw himself across the room, back up against the fireplace, as they stared straight at each other. "Don't call me that," Sam said, quiet but strong, so full of conviction and honest to God _hatred. _And that wasn't something Dean was used to hearing in Sam's voice.

"Sam-" he started, glancing down to the poker still held tightly in his brother's hand, putting a foot into the room. And from the look on Sam's face, he knew that somehow, everything had changed. In the course of a few hours, not only were the rules different, but so was the entire game. And Dean wasn't even sure where the board was anymore, if there even was one. It could have become a card-game for all he knew. "Sammy-"

"Don't _call me that!" _Sam shouted, pushing himself backwards, body slamming into the mantel as his face twisted up in an amount of pain that couldn't be purely physical. And Dean had no idea what he had done, no idea what had happened to cause this kind of reaction. Until he knew that, how was he supposed to fix it?

Taking another step, he kept his eyes locked onto the life-ruining _thing_ that stood between them, the one that was giving Sam ideas Sam shouldn't have had. "What were you thinking, Sam?" There wasn't an immediate response. Instead, Sam started shaking his head back and forth, so quickly Dean knew his neck had to hurt from it and he was honestly concerned his brother was going to give himself whiplash.

One hand flying up to rub at his head, gaze falling to the floor, Sam breathed, "No. Go 'way... _No!" _He started pacing in front of the fire, head still shaking, hands moving through his hair, pulling at it, making it stick up at odd angles. His eyes were panicked, on edge in a way Dean had never before seen in a human being. In a way he had only seen in an animal that knew it was about to be killed.

"Sam," Dean tried, forcing himself to inch closer even though his body was having a hard time obeying that. His movements were jerky, uncoordinated in a way that years and years of hunting should have made it impossible to be. But this was _Sam _and that was all that explanation he needed. "If this is a Hell thing, you're-"

"_Shut up! _Just _shut up!_" Sam shouted, hands flying out as if to create a line Dean couldn't cross, as if to ward him off. So Dean stopped, swallowing around the rock that had gotten lodged inside his throat, trying to breath around the one that had lodged itself in his chest. And that wasn't working very well. "Demons. Demons, angels..." Sam started shuddering, eyes flying around, head following their jumps around the room. "Angel. Demon. _Exorcizamus te, monis immundus spirit-"_

"Sam!?" Dean shouted, barely able to hear himself over his brother. Another step closer, a jump back from Sam, expressive eyes widening, filling with the exact opposite of everything they used to when they saw Dean. "I'm your _brother-"_

"Stay back!" he snapped, the words cracking through the air, striking against Dean's chest like a whip. But worse. Because a whip could never replicate this kind of pain. "Get the hell away from me! _Let me out!" _Sam started screaming, flipping around to smack his hand on the fireplace mantel, pounding on it with his fist as his head fell back, staring up at the ceiling. "_I want out! Let me out!" __  
><em>

Dean couldn't watch this, couldn't watch the Hell-fire burn in his brother's eyes. Taking a step forward, he had it matched, Sam jumping around to stare at him. His face twisted up, lines appearing across it in patterns Dean couldn't recognize, had never seen before.

And if the breath Dean took after that sounded more like wheezing than anything, if he _couldn't breathe_ then that wasn't important. Wasn't even noticed by anyone in the room. "You're out, Sam! This is _out_! Whatever you think you're seeing, it's not real!" And he could feel every word grate over the inside of his throat, pulling at it, tearing.

"_Shut up! Stop lying to me! _It is real! It _is real!"_ And Sam started pacing again, hand scratching at his scalp, his gait uneven, unsteady, as he babbled broken words that couldn't even be strung into sentences.

And Dean had to _make it better__. _He _had to_. It was his job and he had to. He stared forwards, hand reaching out for his brother's sleeve. "C'mon, man-"

"_No! __Don't, Dean!"_ Sam screamed, the poker whipping out to be held like a weapon, freezing Dean in place. "_Stop!_ Anyone but him! Mom, Dad, Jess, _anyone but Dean!"_ And the tears just started running down Sam's face, uncontrollable but absolutely silent. His eyes flew up, darting around on the ceiling as if looking for something. What, Dean didn't know, couldn't know. But something.

"Hey... It's just me. It's your brother. It's just us..." Dean whispered, raising his hand towards the poker only to watch his fingers twitch, hand shake, more unsteady than he had ever been in his life.

But Sam just backed up, eyes hardening, narrowing, darkening as they stared at each other. "_Fifty__-three years!_ Every day for _fifty__...three...years!_ Isn't that enough for you!? _Haven't I made up for it yet, Dean!?"_

And Dean couldn't breathe. Literally. If there was any air in the room, Dean certainly couldn't find it. And with the directions his mind was going, he almost didn't want to find it. Because asphyxiation sounded like a far better way to die than he deserved. "What?" he said, word sounding more like a cough than anything else. Not that it mattered. Because Sam wasn't exactly paying attention.

"Anyone but Dean!" he shouted, a sob tearing from his throat as he backed up again. "Any_thing_ but Dean!"

"Sam-" And as Dean tried to reach him one more time, the scream that was ripped from Sam's throat, the panic and terror in his eyes made it so easy for Kathleen to grab Dean's arm, to drag him from the room. But more importantly, drag him _from Sam. _Because he wasn't able to think beyond the sound that kept echoing, ringing through his ears, drowning out anything and everything else.

"You need to leave," Kathleen hissed, practically shoving him at the door. "A few days apart. For him." But Dean wasn't listening, had barely even heard her. Because he needed to go back in there. Because Sam _needed him_ and in all honesty, he needed Sam.

Shaking his head, tore his arm out of her grip, lips twisting up in a snarl. "You're crazier than I thought if you really believe I'd ever leave him alone like this." Voice rough, tight, constricted to the point there wasn't even a potential for argument.

And at that she seemed disappointed, upset... And panicked. Which really didn't make sense. Not for her. Not for them. "But look what you're doing to him," she continued, gesturing to the living room. And Dean did look, turning away from her, going to stand in the doorway. His hands wrapped around the doorjamb, eyes locked on the side of his brother's face.

Sam was standing there, staring into the fire with an amount of concentration that could have been humorous but definitely wasn't. Tremors, shake after shake ran through his body, visible even from where Dean stood. And Dean had to wonder what his brain was doing to him at that moment, what it was that Sam was seeing. Not that he could find out. Because that part of his brain still felt numb, inaccessible, and he was almost impressed that Sam had managed to keep control of that. Almost. But he was mostly just pissed he couldn't get in.

The light from the fire reflected off of Sam's face, highlighting the old tear tracks, illuminating the new ones. And Dean knew he was right, just as he had always known when it came to Sam. Because he knew Sam and he knew himself and he knew them. And this had to be right. "He's my brother," he answered simply, gaze not shifting, throat working under impossible circumstances.

"Dean-"

"He's my brother," he repeated, stronger, clearer, determined, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder. "I can't- _won't_. I won't leave him now."

And he stepped into the room, slowly inching towards his brother like he would when approaching a wounded animal. Which he supposed he actually was. "Sammy?" he whispered, foot creaking on a floorboard. But his brother didn't react, just stayed there, rocking between his heels and toes, arms crossed, eyes that used to be so full now completely empty as they stared into the fire. Carefully placing his next step, Dean held his hands out. "Sam?"

And that was it. Sam's head snapped sideways, another round of tears streaming clearly down his face. "_N-No..." _His voice shook in time with his body, both on the same wavelength. A wavelength Dean couldn't get himself on. A wavelength that shouldn't have existed.

_"No!" _Sam shouted, hysteria touching his voice. "_Don't, Dean! _Please!" He started backing away, taking three steps for every one Dean took towards him, matching him perfectly.

And Dean could feel his skin break in the lip he was biting, was sure he'd start bleeding at some point. Because the pain and desperation had started spreading in his chest, running through his veins like a poison meant to render him completely incapable of functioning. This was supposed to be straightforward. They could do anything. As long as they were together, just the two of them could do absolutely anything. And Dean was supposed to be allowed time to fix this. Sam had been given back to him in that alleyway and that was supposed to mean that he was going to be allowed to _fix them_. This wasn't supposed to happen.

This wasn't supposed to be the end.

"Sammy-" he whispered, a note of pleading inching its way into his voice. Stepping forwards, Sam's back hit the wall, and Dean could feel the first tear stream down his own face, could feel his heart shatter, splinter in his chest as it dripped off his chin.

"_I'm sorry, _Dean! _Please! _I'm so sorry! _Don't, Dean!" _And Dean's jaw trembled as he watched his brother forced his overly large body into the corner of the room, watched his brother sink to the ground and curl up into a ball, legs tucked into his chest. "_I'm so sorry,_" Sam sobbed and as Dean stepped closer, he started pushing against the floor with his feet. As if he was trying to disappear through the wall.

Kneeling down in front of his brother, Dean slowly lifted his hand, reaching out to touch him. But Sam flinched and Dean found himself doing the same. "Sammy..." he whispered, his vision starting to blur, swirling. And when he extended his arm, fingers inches away from Sam's skin, his heart was completely destroyed.

Because Sam started screaming, screaming over and over for him to get away. Pushing against the floor, cheeks completely covered in tears, worse than any of the night terrors Dean had ever heard Sam have. But Dean didn't listen. On the balls of his feet, he crept closer, just a little. And when his brother started pushing at him, trying to force him away... When he stared into eyes that could no longer be Sam's because Sam would never look at him like that...

He forced the sob rising in his chest back down, ignoring the way it only made the tears come faster. Because he couldn't fall apart any more than he already had. He couldn't. Because if he did, he'd never be able to do what he needed to.

Turning his head away, he sniffed, staring at the point where the wall met the floor. Waves ran through his body, making him shake, churning his stomach, sending his body from hot to cold and back again. Like the worst fever he had ever had. And this time, he didn't even get to stay home from school as a consolation.

No. This time there was no consolation. So he squeezed his eyes shut, bit deep into his bottom lip.

And he let Sam push him away.

Standing up, he watched Sam curl himself farther into the corner, watched him bury his face in his knees and hug his legs at close to his chest as he could. As if that would protect him. As if that could possibly make it better.

Dean nodded to himself, trying to ignore the sobs that kept pouring out of the huddled body. But he couldn't. He really, really couldn't. Wiping a hand over his face, he tried to erase any evidence that there was something wrong, tried to cover it up. Because usually he could do that. He'd do it and things wouldn't seem as bad. But not this time. Because the second he wiped the tear tracks away, they were replaced with new ones. And they just kept coming, faster and faster as he repeated that he had to do this, that there was no other way.

Stepping back, Dean didn't let his eyes leave his brother, didn't look away as he said through a throat so tight he wasn't sure how he was still breathing, "I'm sorry, Sam. God, I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>He stood outside Kathleen's home, waiting, duffle bag sitting on the porch next to him. He couldn't be inside because Kathleen was busy trying to coax Sam out of whatever half-aware state he had fallen into. And every time Sam saw Dean, any inching steps they had taken to getting him out of the corner were undone.<p>

Seeing the headlights at the end of the driveway, Dean felt a small amount of relief, as much as was possible under the circumstances. Which honestly wasn't very much. Or really any. At all.

The rusty truck pulled to a stop, driver getting out and Dean tried to smile. Really. He did. He tried very, very, hard. Tried so hard he should be given bonus points just for the amount of effort he put into it. Though from the look on the arrival's face, he was sure he looked more pathetic than convincing. Which meant no gold star for him.

"Bobby," he said, returning the man's one-armed hug. "Thanks for coming."

Dean had called him immediately after he had left Sam and had had tried to explain the situation as rationally as possible. Which admittedly wasn't very rationally. But he was on the verge of having a mental and emotional breakdown so he felt it was justified. "It's not like I wasn't gunna come. He inside?" Bobby answered, glancing down at the duffle bag Dean had with him, lips pulled into a sad smile. And Dean couldn't stare at it for longer than a second before looking away. Because he couldn't break. Not now. Not ever.

Nodding, Dean swung the strap over his shoulder, distantly wondering why the bag seemed so much heavier than it had when he had first come into the house. "Yeah... Get him something to eat, m'kay? He's disappearing on me in there." The small laugh he attempted at the end was painful to even his own ears but he had to do something to keep himself from thinking. And to help himself ignore the accidental double meaning.

Bobby caught it too, his gaze dropping to the ground. "You be careful, now," he ordered and Dean nodded, starting down the steps. And he felt a tug in his chest, one that begged- _demanded_ he go back. But he had seen Sam, had seen the terror in his eyes. All directed at Dean. And he knew that staying was the one thing he couldn't do. Not until his brother was better. Because being around Dean was only making him worse.

"Yessir. Don't have too much fun with Kathleen," Dean returned, forcing a smirk onto his face. And he wished the normalcy in his conversation wasn't so forced, wished things were fine and that he could joke without the crushing weight of guilt and pain sitting on his chest. But he couldn't.

He heard Bobby grumbling about idjits as Dean threw open the driver's door on the Impala. "Hey, kid," Bobby called and Dean stuck his head out the door, standing, crossing his arms over the top of it. And they just stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. "It gets better. It'll get better."

A fake, disbelieving smile pulled at Dean's lips, but he nodded anyway. Throwing his duffle into the back, he dropped into the Impala, slamming the door shut.

Subconsciously, he glanced over at the empty passenger seat, the seat that had only ever belonged to one person. And as he pulled away, backing out of the driveway, he realized that despite all the promises he had made to Sam, despite all the promises he'd made to himself that he would fix his brother, he was leaving. He was separating them just like he said he never would again.

And knowing that he had to just made it worse.


	17. Chapter 16

_A/N: Again, sorry for the hellatus. But tests are over (Yay!) so I can come back to this now._

_Thank you again to everyone who has continued to follow, favorite, review, and read this! I'm glad people haven't given up on me. :-)_

_Warnings: Torture._

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>Running surveillance by yourself was boring. So boring that Dean was about two seconds away from saying "Screw it" and letting the leviathans run wild.<p>

He had picked up where Bobby left off, following the big mouths to an abandoned warehouse. And that's where he had been for the last six hours. Sitting. Alone. In the Impala. Feeling generally useless. Because really, they weren't doing anything other than talking and drinking. Which was weird. But hey, he supposed leviathans were allowed to get bored too.

The annoying thing was, when you were bored, your mind was allowed to go places you'd rather it didn't. And the fact that it was hanging out in the vicinity of _Sam_ was never a good thing. Because his phone was sitting right there and he had already called for an update twice over the course of this stakeout and he was pretty sure Bobby would yell at him until his ears bled if he called at two in the morning. Then again, Bobby probably just wouldn't answer.

Unless Sam had gotten worse and was doing something at two in the morning that Bobby needed to be awake to stop.

And Dean decided he'd rather just be ignored.

So he was about to pack it in. Either that or go join the Purgatorian-freaks because alcohol sounded _really_ _good _and they seemed to be having a good time. Better than he was anyway.

But that was when the screaming started.

Dean sat straight up, ears perking as he tried to locate the source of the sound. Hunter instincts on red alert, he zoned in on a small group of leviathans down the road, dragging a screaming woman towards the warehouse. And as his eyes flickered back and forth between the leviathans inside and the leviathans outside, he made a decision. Probably a very stupid one. A very stupid one that Sam would kill him for if he were here. But Sam's not here. _Sam's not here_.

There were only three of them and one innocent woman that needed help. And normally, he wasn't stupid. At least _this_ stupid. Normally, he would at least have gotten back up. But he couldn't help Sam. He couldn't save Sam so he might as well find someone that he could save.

Putting the car into drive, he pressed on the gas, speeding until he was right in front of the group before sliding to a stop, sending them all staggering backwards to avoid getting hit.

He jumped from the car, gun in hand, aiming over the top of the Impala. "Let her go!" he shouted, firing the first shot into one of the approaching crony's shoulder. Of course, he just staggered back a step under the impact, hissing, huge teeth making an appearance. Threatening. Dean's skin prickled, as if it was worried when he wasn't. As if trying to remind him that it didn't want to get eaten. And no, Dean didn't exactly want to get eaten because that would be incredibly unpleasant. But he wasn't worried. It was a rescue mission. He was going to save someone and it was all going to be okay.

The bullet accomplished what Dean wanted it to. The leviathans broke apart. One kept holding the now crying and begging girl while the other two tried to figure out how to get around the car to get to him. But Dean knew how to make this work, had done stuff like this a million times before.

As one went around the back and the other started towards the front, Dean slid across the hood, cutting off the one he had shot. And before it even had time to react, he had sliced its head off, kicking it as far from the body as he possibly could.

Seeing this happen, the second leviathan growled, head flying back, teeth coming out as it ran back along the Impala. Dean ducked as it lunged at him, barely missing getting bit, feeling the breath skate along his bare arm. Swinging, he didn't even think about it before he had its head rolling across the ground to join its friend's.

The next thing Dean knew, he had his knife pressed to the third leviathan's throat, watched as cold hatred filled its eyes. "Let her go, and maybe I'll let you die easy."

"Please," the woman whispered, a sob tearing from her throat as she pushed at the arm around her. "Please, let go!"

"You heard her," Dean said, voice a dangerous whisper. "Let...her...go." And he was sure it was about to happen, was sure the leviathan cared about his own life more than that. But the next thing he knew, the woman was dead on the ground and he was shouting in denial.

Anger pulsing in his veins, he lunged forward, only to have himself yanked backwards, arms hooking under his own. The moment of hesitation, the moment he stood shocked as she was killed, that was all it took to get himself grabbed, to have his machete falling to the ground with a useless clatter.

Elbowing one of his unidentified captors in the stomach, he kneed the other in the crotch, breaking free fast enough to grab his only weapon off the ground. And he really should have thought about that. Brought more knives, a chainsaw, something. But he hadn't planned ahead when he'd jumped out of the car. He had just gone. And he was so going to hate himself for that.

As he spun around to face his attackers, he froze. There were _lines_ of people all standing there, an entire army. And he was in the middle of the circle they made.

Flipping around, back and forth, looking for any way out, any direction he could run that wouldn't mean instant death. But there wasn't one. There was nowhere for him to go. And for the first time, he knew he was completely trapped.

His body was tense, hand clenching and unclenching on his weapon as they moved closer, narrowing the circle around him. He felt like a sheep, surrounded by a pack of wolves. And a part of him realized that he kind of was. Though the rest of him really didn't appreciate the sheep analogy because sheep weren't badass. They were fluffy and cute and said, "Baaaaa."

Dean Winchester was not a sheep.

They stopped moving, at least most of them did. The one that had been holding the girl, now lying dead at his feet, stepped forward, encroaching on Dean's personal bubble. "The infamous Dean Winchester. I have to admit, from the way Edgar described you, I thought you'd be... _smarter_." The condescension in his tone forced Dean to grit his teeth, made his muscles tighten even farther than they already had. Which was pretty impressive because they already felt like they were going to pop or burst through his skin or something else equally unpleasant.

"And I thought you'd be prettier. Guess we're both disappointed," Dean snapped, matching step for step as the monster started to circle him. Again, Dean Winchester was not a sheep.

Nor was he anyone's dinner.

The two edged around the space left to them by the group and Dean suddenly realized how screwed he was. Before, the extent of his screwage had been an abstract thought, almost unimportant. But now, there was a freaking _army_ surrounding him. A goddamn army of bloodthirsty, Dean-eating creepiness. And he was hit with the overwhelming urge to inform them that he didn't taste very good.

The leviathan just smirked, head tilted to the side as they studied each other. "You walked right into it. Didn't even think about it. Just rushed in to save the damsel in distress. Easily forgetting how outmatched you were." And that just confirmed what Dean already knew. It had been a trap. A carefully planned, orchestrated trap that they'd known he would fall straight into. Because he's impetuous like that. Because without Sam, he was unbalanced and they knew it.

But he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him worried, wasn't going to let them think for one second that they had pulled anything over on him. "There're two heads rolling around here that prove differently." The leviathan just laughed, gesturing to the ground. And slowly turning around, Dean found himself watching as the heads rolled back to their owners, reattaching themselves to the bodies. They glared at him as they worked out the kinks in their necks and Dean didn't really think that was fair. Their heads had come back. No hard feelings.

"Hm... I suppose there were," the ring-leader continued, stepping into the center of the circle. Which was cheating. Dean couldn't back up because backing up meant stepping on a leviathan's foot. And as fun as that sounded, he doubted it would be appreciated. "But then, there's the head of the girl you were supposed to be saving. So I think that means you lost."

Dean growled, guilt clawing at his chest. Because he hadn't saved her. Another innocent person was dead and Dean hadn't been able to save her. "At least I tried to do something. She was an innocent girl, you bastards-"

But his words cut off when said-girl stood up, brushing herself off, wiping the blood from her neck. "And that's why she tasted _so good_ when I ate her," she smiled and Dean felt himself flinch because this was it. He had no back-up, no one to save him. No Sammy. No Sammy. No Sammy...

And they were definitely going to eat him.

"I'd tell you to 'bite me' but I think you're already going to so..." The leviathan's smile just widened, pointed teeth making an appearance.

"You're right. We are." And then the scorching pain erupted in his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. His vision grayed, spots dancing across it and he was pretty sure he heard someone scream. As he felt his body spasm, the pain running through his entire body, he could only hope that it wasn't him.

* * *

><p>The first thing he noticed was that he was tied to something cold. The next thing he noticed was that his left shoulder was numb. After that, he decided he didn't like this game and let his head fall back against something hard, peeling his eyes open. And it wasn't until then that he realized he wasn't dead. This wasn't Hell and it definitely wasn't heaven. No matter how screwed up and painful heaven may be.<p>

He was sitting on the floor, zip-tied to a pole as his shoulder steadily leaked blood down his chest. And as he stared at it, he could trace the teeth marks, could find where they sunk into his flesh, leaving muscle torn and mangled. Gross. That was definitely something he could have lived without seeing.

Hearing the squeaking of a door, Dean looked up, trying to ignore the onset of dizziness and nausea. It was the ring-leader again, stalking towards him with three lower ranking big-mouths following. "Oh, good. He's awake." And Dean didn't think it was particularly good. He'd have much rather been asleep still because again, not the best place in the world to wake up.

"What do you want?" Dean demanded, trying to make his voice as strong as possible. Because he wasn't dead yet which meant they had to keep him alive for some reason. And he ignored the voice in the back of his head that said it wasn't dinner time yet. _They had to keep him alive_, dammit. Because Sam would never forgive nor would he let him live it down if he got himself killed after being alone for less than twenty-four hours.

And Dean would never forgive himself for leaving Sam alone again, this time forever.

Though with the way his shoulder was twitching, jumping on its own, he wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to hold out.

Dean yanked his head back as the man knelt in front of him, pushing down the scream of protest that wanted to escape when his shoulder was poked. "That looks nasty... Should probably get it looked at."

"Screw you," Dean gasped through clenched teeth as the leviathan's thumb drove into one of the bite marks. "Now what the hell do you want with me?"

Pursing his lips, the man released the pressure, raising his gaze to meet Dean's. And Dean tried not to look too relieved, tried not to show how much that had hurt. But he wasn't sure it worked. Actually, he was pretty sure it hadn't because it had frigging _hurt_. "With you? Nothing," the leviathan answered and Dean ignored the snickering from the men behind him. And really, leviathans shouldn't _snicker._ It was just wrong. "Though as of now, our orders are to keep you alive."

And Dean was glad about that, would have been ecstatic if not for the _but_ he heard at the end of that sentence. "But we also have another set of orders," the man continued and Dean felt his head yanked back, throat exposed. "The more pain you're in, the more you scream, the more attention you'll attract. And that's exactly what we want."

Then there were teeth slowly sliding into his thigh and he could feel the muscles separating, could feel teeth scratching against the bone. His head was thrown back, slammed into the pole as he cried out, fire spreading from the forming wound. Down his leg, up into his chest. Running through his veins and stomping repeatedly on every single one of his nerves. Holding his eyes closed, his chest heaved, sweat already pouring down his temples. And he knew if he opened his eyes, he would see only blackness.

After what seemed like forever, he felt the teeth pull out, the agony slowly fading from white hot to red hot. Which really wasn't much better. _"Shit. Goddamnmotherf-_"

"How'd that feel, Dean?" the head leviathan interrupted, patting his leg and Dean winced, breathing through his nose as he fought to control the pain. When Dean didn't answer, the creature smiled, smugness coming over his face. "Don't worry. There's more where that came from." And Dean wanted to curse and spit and kick and punch until he passed out. He wanted to so badly. But there wasn't any point. And he didn't want to waste what little strength he had left.

But when the bite came to his shoulder for the second time, he wished to a God he knew was AWOL that he would just pass out. Or die. Because his motivation to live had just flown out the window.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to have so much fun chopping your head off," Dean slurred, head lolling on his neck. His body felt like it had been shredded, torn apart. Blood ran steadily down the side of his face, staining the collar of his shirt. Everything felt heavy, including his eyelids. Though that was probably largely due to the fact he couldn't feel his right leg at all. He could see it, knew it was there, knew there was a spreading puddle of blood underneath it. But the entire thing was useless, a dead-weight.<p>

"Good, Dean. You keep that attitude," one of the many leviathans said. Dean wasn't even sure how many there were anymore, just that they were all swimming together to the point he was sure there were a couple conjoined twins in there. And he had to wonder how a leviathan would take over that kind of body because when there was one leviathan and two brains, did two leviathans come together and each eat half or did one leviathan eat both halves and kind of split its nonexistent soul? Which kind of made him wonder if horocruxes were real... He'd have to ask Sam...

A punch landed in his stomach, knocking the wind from his chest as he doubled over as far as he could with zip-ties holding his hands, struggling to pull in the next gulp of air. Once he did, he forced himself to laugh, spitting blood onto the floor from where he'd bitten his tongue. "Really? Weak punch. I expected more from someone with your size superiority complex. Then again, maybe you're just overcompensating."

He heard the snap of fingers and there was another hand driving into his abdomen, teeth hovering right over his shoulder, threatening to close over it for a third time.

"You think this is _funny!?_" the ring leader demanded, looking far more unhinged than he had moments before.

And Dean just shrugged, a heavy weight settling on his chest. "Well, have you looked in a mirror? You're all pretty funny-"

"Shut up!" the man shouted but then he was there, right in Dean's space, hand squeezing around his thigh. The pain sucked the air from Dean's lungs, leaving him kicking and pushing at the hand wrapped like a steel band around him. "Is that funny? Huh? That hurt enough for you!?" Dean wanted to say that yeah, it did. But he wouldn't, wouldn't say anything, wouldn't scream, even as his head slammed back into the pole, even as he felt his leg convulse. The hand suddenly released, barely squeezing, just enough to keep the ache going. And Dean found himself sitting forward, wondering how long it would be before his heart gave out.

Hot, blood-coated breath moved to his ear, hissing over it as the creature spoke, "Devil's riding your brother pretty hard, isn't he?" And Dean flinched before he could stop it. Because they knew about Sam. And them knowing about Sam was far more terrifying, more agonizing than anything since he'd gotten here had been. "Would you laugh if I told you it was your fault?"

The fingernails so long they might as well have been claws dug further into his legs, twisting in the torn open teeth marks. And Dean brought his good leg up, trying to wedge it between himself and the monster to get some space. But the thing just smiled, driving his elbow into it in such a way that it went numb, falling useless against the ground. "Would you laugh if I told you he had it under control until you went and screwed it up?" And Dean made the mistake of looking at the creature. Because he had to think it was lying, just like a demon. Lying to get whatever it was it wanted. But then he had to remember that if it hurt worse, a demon would tell the truth.

_To make it hurt._

The creature smiled, obviously sensing the uncertainty he couldn't keep from feeling. "Though I guess we have to thank you for that." He sat back, removing his hand from Dean's leg and Dean fell back against the pole, relief coming out in every breath he panted. "If you hadn't snapped that bond you two had like it was nothing, Sam would've been able to control his connection to Lucifer and we wouldn't have your baby bro as our direct line into Hell."

Cold. God, he was so cold. And it wasn't the blood loss. It wasn't the pain. It wasn't anything but pure fear, terror that made him freeze. "Sam," Dean realized, spitting the blood in his mouth onto the floor. "Shit, you're after Sam." Chest heaving, head lolling, he was left staring up at the ceiling as the pieces clicked into place. All pieces except one. "I think you've got the wrong brother then, asshole." Not that he wasn't glad. Because they couldn't have Sam. Dean wouldn't let them have Sam.

He barely felt the backhand, even as his head snapped to the side from the force of it. And he supposed he should be worried about that. But he couldn't really find it in himself to be. "Nope. We've got the right one," he said, tapping the back of Dean's head. "You've started to rebuild it. Little Sammy has a line to Lucifer; you have a line to little Sammy. See how that works?"

And no. No, Dean really didn't. "I'm bait?" he demanded, pulling at his wrists only to feel blood run down his hands, dripping off his fingers. At least he was pretty sure it was blood. He couldn't see so he couldn't be sure.

"Very good," the man smiled, smacking Dean's leg, causing it to jump of its own accord. "Let's just say, we need your brother willing... And this is the only way to ensure he'll do as he's told."

Dean felt his lips pull up in a snarl. Because they were using him to get to Sam. _They were going to use Sam._ "My brother-"

"Is Lucifer's _bitch_," the leviathan returned and if looks could kill, Dean's life would have been so much easier. Because every single one of these damn things would have burst into flames a million times over. "Soon to be ours."

"You touch him I swear, I'll cut your body up into so many pieces there's no way in hell Humpty Dumpty will be able to put himself back together again," Dean growled, pulling at the zip-ties. But of course, nothing gave. He was still just as stuck as he had been before. Though he had hoped that the adrenaline rush would be enough to break him out. That he'd have enough strength, even with the pain and the blood loss and the severed muscles. But, even though it was impossible for him to fight any harder, he couldn't get the damn ties to break.

The leviathan gave him a patronizing smile, tapping his cheek. "Aw, Dean... You're worried about us?" He laughed, standing up. "You keep asking people to fix him. _Bobby_, that pretty psychic... Searching the world for someone to put him back together again... But didn't anyone ever tell you that if you break something, you gotta own up and buy it?"

And then there was a mouth around his bicep, and Dean tensed, trying to pull away. He looked up, the ringleader still standing there, staring at him. "Well, you're the one who broke him, Dean. Killing that girl? Making him think you trusted him?" He clucked his tongue. "It was all you, Dean."

Dean just shook his head, trying to force himself away from the huge teeth hovering over his shoulder. "Why do you think he's terrified of you? Saw you in Hell rather than Lucifer?" Body going tense, Dean's jaw clenched, a denial sitting on the tip of his tongue. A denial that he was more than well aware was a complete lie. A lie he'd never be able to believe.

"It's because _you're_ his torturer. Everyday-"

"No," Dean whispered, emotions strained, pulled tight through the pain running through his body. "_No_."

"Oh, but it's true. You hurt him more than the devil ever could. You broke the bond. _You _sent him back to Hell!"

_"No!_" Dean shouted, but then the teeth closed over his arm and he could hear himself screaming, could feel his body seizing under the agony, both physical and mental.

And then everything went wonderfully, blessedly dark.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Hope you liked it!_


	18. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p><em>"Dean!" The voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but the panic in it was obvious. "Answer me, man!" And Dean wanted to, but he couldn't even open his eyes, much less figure out how to make his mouth work. "C'mon! Just tell me you're okay! Please!"<em>

_ "S'mmy," he slurred, entire body heavy, inches from sleep. And getting up sounded like absolutely no fun whatsoever. "S'm..."_

_ "Dean?" The voice seemed closer, louder. Which could have been a good thing, comforting even, if it didn't sound even more panicked. "I need you to talk to me, 'kay?" ...Talk? Why would he talk? Every time he talked, something huge and big and important snapped in half. No, _whenever he escaped from whatever half-awake, dream-state he was locked in, Dean was_ going to take a vow of silence._

_ "Can' do tha- S'mmy," he whispered, curling farther in on himself. At least he thought he did. He didn't honestly know though, because he couldn't feel the ground. If there was a ground. Which he wasn't convinced there was. "Too tired..."_

_ "No! -ean! Don'... sleep! Don'... _Dean!" _Sam seemed to be on the edge of a mental breakdown. And Dean felt bad about that. He really did. But at that moment, he couldn't figure out why. At that moment, he couldn't really figure out why Sam was yelling at him at all. Not like this. Yelling at him in another way, screaming at him for everything he had done... That he could understand. That he knew he deserved. But the concern in his brother's voice was going to make him sick._

_If it was possible to be sick in a dream._

_ "'m s'rry..." The darkness that was all around him seemed so tempting, he couldn't really deny it. But then, when had he ever been able to deny anything tempting? And that was probably part of why he was in the mess he was. "'m s'rry, S'mmy..."_

_ When Sam started yelling at him again, he was almost glad he could barely hear it, that Sam's words kept cutting in and out like a crappy cell phone connection. And in the back of Dean's hazy mind, he wondered if he was in a tunnel. "Shut... Dean! ...'ease! Don'... sle'p... De'n!"_

_And a part of him was relieved when Sam's voice began to disappear completely. A very small part. The rest of him felt the loss like a physical pain, a strange ache moving through his body, increasing the quieter Sam got. Like he was being pulled apart, like something vital had been stretched to its breaking point. And he vaguely wondered if he'd die when it snapped. It felt like it. And honestly, he was almost looking forward to it. "'m s'rry..."_

_ And he let go of whatever was holding him together, let go of the tether that kept him floating._

_ And he fell._

* * *

><p>Gasping, Dean jerked upright, nearly dislocating his arms in the process. Chest heaving, eyes darting around, it took him far longer than it should have to remember where he was. At least he remembered to be relieved that there were no leviathans in the room. "Shit..." he breathed, dropping his head back against the pole, wincing when it made contact.<p>

His leg was lying useless on the ground, shoulder aching steadily. And he wondered how long it would be until infection set in. Because really, how often did leviathans brush their teeth?

Closing his eyes, he couldn't keep his brain from going back to the dream. The very tiny optimistic part of him wanted to say that it was really Sam, that the bond or whatever they had was working and that he had actually been talking to his brother. But when had that very tiny optimistic part of him ever been useful? Never. Absolutely never. Besides, if Sam had been in his head, who knows what he had picked up in there. Probably more than enough ammo to lord over Dean for the rest of forever.

So it was a dream. A pain-induced, trippy dream that was not an indication that Sam was going to be able to find him at all. Besides, he wasn't even sure he wanted Sam to find him. Whatever plan the leviathans had, they needed Sam to pull it off. And Dean had hurt that kid more than enough for a lifetime. There was no way in hell he was going to let anyone else make it worse.

So yeah, it was definitely a dream.

And, honestly, it wasn't so far off to have a dream of the one person you want to see more than anyone else in the entire world when you were sure you were going to die. Not that far off at all.

And the fact that he found himself waiting to pass out again?

That was totally unrelated.

* * *

><p><em>"Dean!" Sam was louder this time, clearer, less muffled. And Dean had to wonder what that meant, if it meant anything at all. Better reception, maybe. Had escaped the tunnel... "Answer me!"<em>

_ "Jeez... Bossy bitch," Dean grumbled, wishing he could just float in oblivion forever. Because it was pretty nice. Though he could do without the yelling. Yelling was unpleasant._

_ He heard an annoyed huff, the one that could only be pulled off by Sam. Honestly, Dean had no idea how he did it. No one should be able to put that much bitchiness into a single sound. It was unnatural. "Y'gotta help me out here, Dean. I can't hold it on my own." And Dean had no idea what he was talking about. No idea at all, but he figured it was important. Which made it important enough to get him to pry his eyelids open, only to find that the outside of his eyes looked nothing like the inside._

_ "Holy-!" Dean shot up, vaguely realizing that nothing hurt, that his leg seemed to actually be usable. The novelty of that shriveled up and died pretty quickly though because he was _outside_. He was in a clearing in the middle of a goddamn _forest._ And really? Just... _really?

_ "Dean!" And that was when Dean realized Sam's voice was coming from somewhere in the trees. And that Sasquatch footsteps were crunching twigs and leaves and just generally disturbing everything they possibly could._

_ "Sammy?" he called, because what the hell? This was the strangest acid trip he had ever been on. Ever. "Sam?"_

_ "Nice job, asshole." And suddenly Sam was _there_, standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest as he took in their surroundings. And okay, Dean was still kind of stuck on the whole, "surroundings" part. Because _what...the...hell_!_?

_And he hadn't gotten past that when Sam stalked forwards, crossing in front of Dean, sticking his hand into the ring of trees surrounding them. __"You have any idea how long it took me to get here?" And Dean could have made a guess if he had any idea where_ here_ was.__ "And your mind is a disturbing place," Sam added, half-glaring at him. Like this was somehow all his fault. Like Dean had complete control over everything that was going on. Like this was Dean's-_

_...Well, shit._

_Dean could feel his jaw working, but he couldn't hear any sound. So he supposed he wasn't making any. Which was a little annoying because there was a traffic jam in his throat and all the words were stuck. The cop that was supposed to be directing them had gone home early._

_ Bastard._

_His negligence had allowed the word, "Holy," to run a stop sign and crash into the word, "shit." And they were both so totaled that they couldn't move out of the middle of the intersection and the ambulance had yet to show up and it was possible that "Holy" had committed vehicular homicide and-_

_"Hey!" Dean snapped, jumping back, batting at the hand that was poking at his shoulder. And his head. And his ribs._

_Sam was staring at him, chewing on his lip, eyebrows narrowed as he looked for any obvious damage. "You okay? You gotta talk to me, man, 'cuz right now your showin' all the symptoms of a concussion."_

_ Realizing that yes, Sam really was freaked out, Dean coughed, clearing the block in his throat so that he didn't squeak when he said, "My _mind_? Sam?" And now he was back to, _really_!_?_  
><em>

_ Sam bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes darting to the woods around them. "Yeah... Look, I don't really have time to explain everything. The bond's not strong enough to hold me so I need you to tell me what's going on," he said, gaze locking onto Dean's face. And honestly, Dean was too confused to even process that statement. Then again, he figured he should be excused because if he was reading this correctly, his mind was a maze of _trees_. "Dean!" Sam snapped, literally snapping his fingers in front of Dean's face. And that only made Dean jump, made him reflexively smack his brother's hand away. "Leviathans. Go."_

_And really, for someone that had been miles away from lucid the last time Dean had seen him, he was much too demanding. Especially when it was apparently Dean's lack of presence that had returned him to lucidity. "Um... Okay," Dean decided, pushing his hand through his hair as he turned around, starting to pace. "Um... Well... I know they want you. For something. Or Lucifer for something. Or something like that..."_

_ "M'kay..." Sam's gaze turned distant, spaced out, like he was listening to something Dean couldn't hear. And Dean realized that probably wasn't a good thing because Sam needed to _stay with him._ He needed to not vanish into his head and disappear forever again. Because Dean couldn't do that. He couldn't watch Sam fade away into nothingness. And as possible as it was that this was a really strange, infection-induced dream, it was equally possible that it wasn't. And either way, he wasn't going to waste this chance - maybe his last chance - to see Sam again._

_ "Sammy?" he whispered, gently pushing at his brother's shoulder. And that seemed to work because Sam shook his head, pulling himself back to the present._

_ "Sorry," he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I'm not... really supposed to be here..." And then it was his turn to pace, hands pressed together, sides of which held against his lips. "So... They want something from Lucifer."_

_"Yeah." Though Dean had no idea what. Because Lucifer was in _Hell_, locked in the _cage_. What he could possibly do for them... Dean wasn't sure he even wanted to know. Because it was Lucifer and anything involving Lucifer was bad. Very, very bad._

_Sam nodded his head jerkily, footsteps becoming more and more uneven. And when Dean looked, he could see his brother's hands shaking. "Okay... Okay. Ok-" Sam was cut off by a muffled cry, heels of his hands driving into his eyes. Like he was trying to push them straight through his skull. Scratching, like he was trying to reach in and yank his brain out. And okay, that was definitely not an image Dean needed._

_Before he had even consciously made the decision, Dean was at his brother's side, grabbing his shoulders, watching Sam bend over to nearly half his gigantic height. __"Sammy? Y'okay?_ _Sam_!_?_" _And no. Of course he wasn't okay. Stupid reflexive question. Stupid question he no longer even thought about before it came out of his mouth. And as__ Sam nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, as he huddled in on himself, sinking to his knees, Dean made the executive decision to never ask that question again. Because Sam always answered with a lie. And Dean knew that that was his fault. "Sam-"_

_ "Just-" Sam held up his hand, staring imploringly into Dean's eyes. "Gimme a sec." And despite every fiber in his body telling him not to, Dean did. He stepped back, watching as his brother's eyes fell vacantly to the ground, chest heaving in desperate breaths, his entire body shaking with something other than the cold. Because it was warm inside Dean's head apparently. Whatever that meant._

_ Finally, Sam stopped trembling, squeezing his eyes closed. And that was all the okay Dean needed. He was next to him in the next second, hand wrapped around the side of his neck. "What the hell was that?" But then, what the hell was anything anymore?_

_ Sam shook his head, peeling his eyes open and straightening up. "Lucifer. Trying to pull me back. 'm okay now," he added, looking up into Dean's eyes like he was afraid for _Dean_. Like Dean was the one that needed to be reassured. Like Dean was the one that had just nearly collapsed. Like Dean was the one that had been destroyed by Lucifer._

_Like Dean was the one that had been ripped apart by everyone and everything he had ever come into contact with._

_And that was it, wasn't it? This entire time, that had been everything. Why was he so goddamn slow? As the words of the leviathans echoed in his head, __Dean whispered something almost never did: "I'm sorry." So quiet, almost silent. But Sam somehow heard it anyway because Sam's eyes locked onto his. Or rather, they were locked where Dean's eyes should have been. Instead, he couldn't force himself to look away from the ground in front of his brother. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he repeated, __"I'm so sorry, Sam."_

_ "Don't be, Dean." And Dean knew he meant it. Which just made everything so much worse. "I got out," he said, a hesitant smile, a half-shrug, like that was supposed to make everything better. "You got me out, man. What doesn't have a few issues?"_

_ And Dean wanted to answer that there shouldn't be issues. Because Sam never should have gone to Hell in the first place. "You're not supposed to," Dean forced out through his quickly tightening throat. "You're not-" He just wasn't. And Dean felt something seize in his chest, shatter into pieces at the thought that he had so much control over Sam. Sam was the strongest person Dean knew. Even after everything, he was still the child that believed there was good in everyone - except himself (Dean's fault). The same child that would fight tooth and nail to protect anything he deemed important - but not himself (Dean's fault). The same child that would throw himself in front of a wendigo to save someone he cared about - but would never save himself (again, Dean's fault). And to maintain that when the world had been working against him since long before he was even a thought in their parent's minds, to still believe in so much, to still be so damn forgiving and_ good_ after everything he had been through,__ he had to be stronger than anyone and anything else that had ever existed._

_And yet, he could be broken so easily... But only by Dean. Only Dean. "__But you have to know... Amy? I did that for you. You have to know that."_

_His brother's face tightened, a tension washing over his body that never should have existed. Pushing himself back, Sam shrugged out of Dean's grip, standing up. "Dean, you keep talkin' about that and I'm gonna be kicked out of here a lot faster."_

_ "Why?" Dean demanded. But he didn't really need an answer. Sam just had to stare at him, and he got it. It was the _bond_. It was _all the bond_. It was physical - or metaphysical? - proof of their brotherhood, of their relationship. And when their relationship was strained, the bond was too. Which was why it kept weakening. Which was why it had just weakened even more. And that had to stop. It was just going to keep unraveling, keep fading and fading and fading and Dean couldn't allow that. That _could not happen_. __"I can't explain myself to you, m'kay?" he continued, ignoring his brother's warning._

_"Dean-"_

_"And there's nothing I can say to make it better-"_

_ "Shut up, Dean. I can feel it pulling-"_

_ "Because yeah, I killed her. I did-"_

_ "I'm gonna lose it, Dean-"_

_ "But I didn't kill her because she was a monster... mostly-"_

_ And Sam's image started to fade, started to shift and jump, like it was trying to force itself to stay when everything was trying to pull it back. But Dean didn't stop talking. He kept going because this was important. It was everything. This had always been everything._

_"Oh my god- Dean, you idio-"_

_"Or because I didn't trust you or whatever else you're thinking."_

_ "I'm thinking I'm the same as her!" Sam snapped and Dean could feel the anger flowing from him, the power of it shifting through him, around them. "And you killed her!" He flickered, disappearing entirely for a fraction of a second. And Dean felt the panic that was specifically reserved for Sam, the all-consuming fear he always felt when faced with losing him. Because he was literally disappearing in front of his eyes, fading away as Dean watched. "They were drunks and scumbags and your life is worth way more to me than theirs or anybody else's ever would be!"_

_After that, it all froze. Dean's eyes, which had been determinedly focused on the ground, flickered up, staring at his now washed out brother. His brother that wasn't flickering anymore. And that seemed to scare Sam far more than the flickering did._

_"What're you doing?" Sam demanded, pressing his hand to his head. "Dean,_ what the hell are you doing!?" _The trees swayed, leaves rustling, shaking with a sudden, invisible force._

_The pressure was already building in Dean's head, the break approaching. But until it reached them__, he just smiled, not cocky and sure, but it was there and it was real. "I'm holding on," he answered, eyes flickering around. "Somewhere in here, there's a me holding on very tight to a weak spot on a tether. 'cuz it seems to wanna snap and I can't let that happen."_

_ "Dean-" Sam started to warn, gaze darting to the forest around them._

_ "I can't let that happen until you listen to me so shut up, Sam, 'cuz I'm not trained in this thing and can only hold on for a minute," he demanded in a voice that sounded far too much like his father's for his liking. But it seemed to work because his brother's mouth snapped shut, probably more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. He even seemed a little impressed._

_Digging his nails into the palm of his hand to try to relieve some of the strain, to try to divert his attention, Dean continued, "Like I said, I have no explanation. And there is no excuse. But I will say that I didn't kill her because of anything you just said." His entire body started shaking and he saw Sam try to take a step forwards, only to be pulled back into his spot by an invisible force. An invisible tether. The one yanking from the other side that Dean was trying so very hard to counteract._

_ "Dean, you need to let go," Sam told him, eyes wide and almost afraid. "You can't- Let go of the damn thing, Dean."_

_ But Dean ignored him, just stepped forwards, hands gripping a nearly invisible shoulder, thumb smoothing over a fading pulse point. He knew he only had another moment before he had to do as Sam asked because he could feel the stress building. And even he had some semblance of a survival instinct. "I killed her because you couldn't... And she knew it."_

_ And there was one moment where Sam opened his mouth to say something, something that Dean would have really liked to hear. But there wasn't time. There wasn't anymore time. And Dean had to finish. "Promise me you won't come. Promise me you won't. I can't- They'll kill you. Tell me you won't come." Because that was the only thing that was important._

_ There was a single moment of silence as Sam stared at him, a protest most likely sitting right on the tip of his tongue. But whatever he saw in Dean's gaze must've meant something. Because he nodded and Dean felt relief crash over him. The pressure in his mind even released somewhat, weakening, the trees calming, returning to stillness._

_Silence. A second of silence and relief._

_But then his brother was yanked backwards out of his grip, both his physical and his metaphorical one... That is, if either could really be considered physical._

_And as Dean shouted his name, he fell, wondering why it seemed like Sam had disappeared before he had let go._

* * *

><p>This was the second time he had jerked awake, mind grasping for something just out of reach, something that had been lost. And until he managed to drag it back to himself, he felt detached. Because he was searching for something that was <em>supposed<em> to be there but suddenly wasn't. So his mind really wasn't _there_.

It was too busy looking for Sam.

* * *

><p><em>AN: There are about six chapters left. I hope this one wasn't too disappointing._

_Thank you to everyone for sticking with me! We're almost at the end. Promise! :)_


	19. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_Warnings: Angst? Something finally happens (kind of)?_

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>When the shouting began, Dean barely registered it. He figured it was probably important. The leviathans had been quiet up until then and to be honest, he kind of liked them that way.<p>

Then again, if they were yelling, then they couldn't be gnawing on his bones, now could they?

Speaking of which, the bites were aching, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. And he figured that that couldn't be good. Actually, that was probably very, very bad. And honestly, it was a little insulting. In the back of his mind, he had always had this idea of how he wanted to go out. Morbid, he knew, but really, he was a hunter. They all knew they had limited lifespans. They all knew they were going to die. He was just very specific as to how he wanted it to happen.

That wasn't weird. He simply had high standards.

But yeah, he had always seen himself exploding. Not in the "Ew, his guts are now all over the room" kind of way. Rather, in the "Holy shit, look at that totally bad ass, raging fireball!" kind of way. Last line of defense in a collapsing, crumbling, disintegrating world. A world that Sam was a very, very safe distance away from. Because he always knew he'd die for Sam, in one way or another. Hell, he'd already done it more than once.

But Sam aside, it'd happen with a literal _B__ang!_ That way, everyone could stand around his tombstone and remember the spectacular moment of his death. That way, he'd really be the hero he had always tried to be.

It was a good plan, a well-thought out plan. A plan that did _not_ include dying from an infection because a goddamn monster with a Dean-fetish lacked even the most basic dental hygiene.

Despite his annoyance, it wasn't long before the yelling stopped. But it was long before the door creaked open and the zip-ties were cut from his wrists. He wished it had been longer though, because he found himself dragged from the relative safety of the pole out into the main warehouse. And that would have been fine. A change of scenery was good for a person. Exercise. Semi-fresh air. A lack of his own blood-puddles. All that good stuff. But then he saw a very distinct, unmistakable head raised above the group of leviathans that had congregated in the center of the space.

Heart catching in his chest, locking and stuttering, he breathed, "Sammy," and shook out of the monsters hands, stepping forwards.

Which turned out to be one of his less-hot ideas.

He was on his knees, Sam's worried eyes hovering right in front of him. Sam. _Sam. Stupid, stupid _Sam. Okay, trying to walk equals horrible idea. As in never try it again.

"Sammy," he repeated, hand coming up to rest on his brother's shoulder, grasping in the fabric there. "You lying-" But he really didn't know how to finish that. He was a lying something. What that something was, he had yet to decide. But it was bad. So bad.

He used to better at this whole speaking thing.

But Sam was here. _Sam was here_ and that wasn't okay. Not at all. "You promised me you wouldn't-"

"Yeah, well, I lied. We're good at that, aren't we?" Sam returned, but without the accusation in his voice that Dean felt should be there. Only an almost fond amusement. A mask, hiding the concern and fear and helplessness Dean could see broiling right under the surface.

With an annoyed sigh that wasn't at all real, Dean lowered his head to Sam's shoulder. "Yeah. Guess we are." Acceptance. Because he knew them, had always known them. He would never abandon Sam and deep down, he had known that Sam would never abandon him.

But he had hoped.

"We're going to be the kings of all," one of the leviathans interrupted. "You can either help us willingly... Or we can take a few more bites out of your brother." Dean didn't flinch, just glared. Because these creatures were trying to get Sam to do something that was going to get Sam killed. Therefore, they deserved every ounce of wrath that Dean still had left in his body. Which was a lot. Though he really wished that he had learned to incinerate people with his eyes because that would have been totally awesome and would have more than effectively made his point.

And he was about to snap that they could bite him all they wanted. Because he tasted damn good and _they weren't touching Sam_. But then Sam threw over his shoulder, "But if I do this, we'll all be dead anyway."

"Yes, but how painfully do you want him to go? Because we can make it _very_ painful. Almost like... Well, let's just say that Lucifer got some of his best stuff from us." This time, Sam flinched. Damn they were good. The leviathans knew just where to press, just how to make it hurt as much as they possibly could. And that was just totally uncool. Dean Winchester was not leverage. Dean Winchester was not a pawn.

Dean Winchester was _pissed off_.

"Sammy-"

"Okay," Sam interrupted.

And Dean hadn't even registered the thought before he was shouting, "_No!"_ His voice made Sam flinch, made him look away to stare at the ground as if that would give him all of the answers. It wouldn't. Dean had tried it before. The floor was one-hundred percent useless._  
><em>

"I'll help you, just... let Dean go." Sam didn't look up, didn't look at Dean who was ducking and darting, trying to put himself in Sam's line of sight. But that was impossible because Sam was stubborn. And Sam knew as well as Dean did that if he looked at him, really looked, he wouldn't be able to go through with this. He'd know exactly what was going on in Dean's mind. He'd see exactly how much this sacrifice was killing him, how much this whole situation was destroying him piece by piece. And that pain would make Sam cave.

Growling to himself, Dean shouted, "This is insane! Just eat me, you purgatory-rejects!"

"Dean-"

"Shut up, jackass!" There must have been something amusing in his voice because Sam suddenly decided to look at him. Sam was looking at him and if Dean wasn't mistaken, his lips were quirking upwards in a half-smile. Well, good. At least someone was enjoying this. And Dean was about to demand to know what the hell he was smiling at and why he looked so calm about this whole thing and how everyone could be so _goddamn stupid_. And then he was going to demand to know where the hell Bobby was because wasn't he supposed to be watching Sam?

Fail, Bobby.

But then arms wrapped underneath his shoulders, dragging him backwards, like they really thought that was happening. Like they seriously thought Dean was going to be okay with that. "I think we'll keep him here. As a precaution," one of the leviathans said which provided a nice distraction. A perfect opportunity for Dean to drive his elbow straight back into the things gut. Not that it did him much good because in the next moment, he was on his knees again, jolting pains traveling up and down the length of his leg.

"_Sam-"_

"Dean!" Sam snapped, but then his hands were on Dean's shoulders, eyes boring through his skull to the point where Dean knew that with whatever came next, lying wasn't an option. "Do you trust me?" he asked, only loud enough for Dean to hear him. His voice was urgent, demanding, but below that, there was a hesitancy, an uncertainty that shouldn't have been there underneath a question that never should have had to be asked. "Do you...trust me?" Sam asked again, shaking him.

And staring into his brother's hazel eyes, the ones that he had seen swirl into every possible color on the planet while somehow always remaining perfectly the same, he knew there was only one answer: "Yes."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Almost there, guys! Again, thank you to everyone who is still reading this! Your support means so much to me!_


	20. Chapter 19

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_Warnings: More angst. We're almost at the end?_

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p><em>"It's- offer. Take it or leave-"<em>

_"What- think- won't just leave it?"_

_"...The fact that you need-_."

Dean growled, driving the heels of his hands into his temples in a poor attempt at making it _stop hurting_. Which sucked because he had been knocked out, only to wake up and find he was no longer a chew toy. How that had happened, he had no idea. Why that had happened, he didn't know either. He'd have to ask Sam. But anyways, his body was back in one piece and he could feel his leg again. And that could have been awesome. Very awesome.

Unfortunately, all sense of awesomeness was short lived.

His head _wouldn't stop hurting _no matter what he did. Though he supposed that made sense. When did his head ever listen to him? Never. Because he was Dean Winchester. And there was apparently not a goddamn thing on the entire _planet_ that listened to Dean Winchester

Exhibit A was the reason for his current headache because if Exhibit A had just done as he told him to, Dean's head wouldn't be hurting.

But of course, Sam Winchester, Offender #1, had not listened to him.

Then again, he supposed the migraine was actually his fault. And if Sam had been in that room with him at that moment, he would probably have been laughing his ass off. Or giving him a bitch-face. Or a combination of the two which was actually most likely.

But really, Sam hadn't told him what was going on. Just told him to "trust him." And yeah, Dean trusted Sam to watch his back, to do the "right thing," whatever that was. But what he _didn't_ trust him to do was to watch after himself. Because that was Dean's job, a job Sam had never really had to do before, had never really done successfully before. And that was because Dean was the best at it. It was _his job_, something that no matter how old Sam got, he was never going to stop doing. At least, never again stop doing. Because no matter how many times Sam said he could take care of himself, he would never be able to do it as well as Dean could.

He was taking his job back, official right now. Big Brother - Status: Active. And with that, he knew he never wanted to see Sam cry because of him again, knew he never wanted to see Sam hurt because of him again.

So the fact that Sam was being an idiot right now? That was totally blamed on the fact that he hadn't told Dean what the hell he had planned on doing.

And Dean's head hurt because he had decided that the best way to make sure Sam wasn't doing something that was going to get him killed was to do something relatively stupid himself.

All he had done was relax his mind. He went Zen, became one with the world, checked out, whatever you wanted to call it. And if in doing so the bond naturally tried to yank him into Sam's head? Well, then that wasn't really his fault, now was it?

The annoying thing was that even though she hadn't managed to help in any other way and even though this situation was probably her fault, Kathleen had somehow managed to teach Sam how to establish an effective wall. And she didn't teach Dean how to work the bond right. Or at all. So apparently he had opened his mind too far because he was being repeatedly slammed against the roadblock Sam had put up. Sure, he appreciated the fact Sam was trying to protect him or whatever shit he had come up with, but the fact that his head was in agony and all he was getting for his trouble was the insignificant half of Sam's conversation with the devil sucked.

For the record, regardless of what Sam would say when he found out, this so wasn't totally his fault.

It had to be at least partially Sam's.

He let his head fall back against the wall with a _thunk! _and decided to repeat the action. That way there was at least some diversity to the pain. Break up the monotony.

_"Let me- straight... You'll- I'll-"_

_"...Yes."_

Just as he reached the high-point of his debate as to which direction was best to ram a skewer through his head, everything stopped. The disembodied, half-voices went silent and the _pain stopped_. Which was actually more worrisome than not.

Ten minutes later - ten agonizing minutes when Dean's mind went through every possible reason for the sudden silence - the door creaked open and Sam was thrown in, stumbling, barely catching himself on the wall next to Dean's head.

"Hey, Sam? Y'okay?" he called up, steadying hand reaching to fist in the side of his brother's shirt. But Sam didn't answer him right away. Instead, he dropped his forehead against the wall, lungs jerking in a way that couldn't be at all good. "Sammy? Sammy, talk to me." Dean grabbed the arm hanging down by his face and yanked on it. And it only made his concern grow when Sam came willingly, legs crumpling until he was sitting on the ground.

That was when Dean actually saw his brother's face. He was pale, sweat running down his neck, staining the collar of his shirt. And as Dean pulled on his arm, Sam just let himself be turned around so his back was to the wall, leaning up next to him. "Well, this is awesome. You're freaking catatonic. And you know what? I'm friggin' exhausted so no Ferris Bueller moment for you." After a moment of silence, he added, "...You understand that makes you Cameron, right?"

And that made Sam let out a breathy laugh, eyes falling closed. "Yeah. That's cool. Sloane was totally gonna dump Ferris for him anyway."

"Nuh-uh. Ferris was the cool one. No one'd dump Ferris. She felt sorry for the dude. That's all." Sam's smile grew, head rolling against the wall. And Dean already regretted starting this conversation.

"Whatever gets you through the night, Ferris," Sam laughed, turning his head to face him, and Dean's laughter shriveled up and died.

He grabbed his brother's shoulder, yanking him to face him more completely. "Sammy..." he breathed, gently running his fingers over the bite in Sam's neck, ignoring his brother's cursing. "Goddamn bloodsucking vampire leeches," he swore to himself, wondering how he had missed that when Sam had first come in. It was red and angry, already swelling around the puncture wounds and Dean was going to kill them. Every single goddamn one of them.

"It's fine," Sam whispered, waving the hand Dean had bandaged up not too long ago. And a part of him really wished just pushing on that scar would make it all go away again. But it wouldn't. It wouldn't and that was Dean's fault. Dean broke him. _Dean broke him. _And a part of him was pissed off that Sam let him have that much control over him. He was pissed off that for as independent and strong-willed as Sam was, _Dean_ was the person he chose to be his Achilles' Heel. Because Sam was supposed to be the smart one.

The rest of him though, just hurt. Because Sam _was_ the smart one. And Sam had chosen him, had always chosen him, because he was Sam's superhero big brother who would always protect him and would never hurt him.

If four year old Sam saw him now, if he saw what Dean had become, saw him yelling and hitting and breaking people, what would he think? If twelve year old Sam saw him now, compared him to the big brother he was convinced hung the sun for him each morning, what would he think? If twenty-two year old Sam saw him now, would he have taken a step out of Stanford?

And glancing over at his brother, he felt an amount of shame and pain and guilt that he never had before, an amount that couldn't even be defined.

How was he supposed to keep going knowing that everything Lucifer was doing, all the pain and agony Sam was going through, was his fault? How was he supposed to keep going knowing that _everything_ was his fault, that he had sent his brother - _best friend -_ back to the cage?

As he had said once so long ago, how was he supposed to live with that?

Oblivious to his older brother's thoughts, Sam's eyes were already starting to fall shut. And Dean supposed he should be grateful for that fact alone, that Sam was still willing to fall asleep when he was sitting right there.

"Sure it is, Sammy," he said quietly, patting his brother's shoulder as he helped him to lie back against the wall. "Go to sleep." He had a lot to ask him, a lot to say to him, but honestly, at that point, Sam wouldn't have been very responsive anyways.

After a moment, Sam nodded, a delayed reaction as his brain caught up to what Dean was saying. And Dean had been pretty sure he had fallen right to sleep, breath evening out, body sinking into the wall. But then he spoke, words slurred but no less understandable. "He said yes... Funny... Last time it was me saying that..."

Staring at his brother's face, Dean cataloged every line that shouldn't have ever existed, traced them with his eyes, memorizing how much had changed, how much had stayed the same. And he realized what he should have a long time ago: Time had passed, but things were still the same.

Sam had always been the same.

He rubbed at his eyes, sinking against the wall, trying to quiet his overactive mind.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

And he knew that he could say that everyday for the rest of eternity, and it still would never be enough. It wouldn't even be a start.

Swallowing, he closed his eyes. Not to sleep, but to rest. Because in this place, he would never leave them that vulnerable. And if his arm ended up wrapped around his brother's shoulders and Sam's head ended up on his shoulder? Well, there were no witnesses.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I promise the end is coming! Really! I do!_


	21. Chapter 20

**_A/N: Hey everyone! Guess what!? This story now has a trailer! Watch it here: www. youtube (.com) (/) watch?v=DJXPKFbnQGY (minus the spaces and the parentheses)._**

_Again, I wanted to say thank you to everyone still reading this story. I love you guys!_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>Dean was tense long before the door creaked open. But when Kathleen stuck her head inside, his body froze, muscles locking into place. As if able to sense exactly how pissed off he suddenly was, Sam shifted, snuffling against his shoulder. And when Kathleen's gaze flickered over to Sam, Dean was pretty sure the red that clouded his vision couldn't be good for him.<p>

Snapping his fingers, he pointed out the door, an order to get the hell out as he went about extricating himself from Sam's unconscious body. That was far easier said than done, especially because the last thing he wanted was to wake his brother up and most of said-brother's weight was resting against his side.

All through it, he could feel her gaze on him, could feel her analyzing his movements. And he was pretty sure she didn't have the right to do that. He didn't think she had the right to be there at all. Not anymore.

So when he finally made it to his feet, he stormed to the door, shoving her through it and following after.

He saw her hold her hand up to the two leviathans posted there as guards. Probably a warning to not eat him. Yet. And if things weren't perfectly clear to him before, they certainly were now.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't just shoot you," Dean demanded, hand tensed around the door handle, something he hadn't quite built up the courage to let go of. And when one of the leviathans hissed at him, he really wished he had something sharp to drive through its neck. Just because. It wouldn't do any damage but it'd be fun and would honestly make him feel better.

"You don't have a gun?" Kathleen offered and it took Dean a moment to realize that the low, rumbling, menacing growl that was echoing around the room was coming from him. It didn't take Kathleen nearly as long though if the way she stepped back and held a hand up in placation was any indication. Which he kind of felt that it was. And if the way the leviathans stepped forward meant anything, they figured it out pretty quickly too.

Pulling her other hand out from behind her back, she revealed a fast food bag that almost definitely had something greasy and hamburgery and delicious trapped inside it, just waiting to be eaten. "There's no need to be so rude. I even brought you food." And Dean _wanted that bag_. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had last eaten. He had _been_ eaten, but that wasn't the same at all. So he was _hungry_. So hungry. And it was something to keep him from killing himself. Because he was apparently starving to death and killing himself was definitely a far less unpleasant way to go._  
><em>

But... He couldn't take food from her. He couldn't. Because it was a peace-offering and he couldn't accept the offering without accepting the peace.

Though at that moment, he was a bit fuzzy as to why that was.

Letting go of the door, he crossed his arms over his chest, watching as her face fell. "What do you want?" he asked, knuckles whitening as he tightened his fingers around his bicep.

"How did you know?" she whispered, looking down at the ground. Though Dean kind of felt that _How could you not know?_ was a far better question. The list was shorter. Far shorter. And anything that lessened the amount of time he would have to stay standing out in the hallway was his favorite thing ever. Because firstly, he had already left Sam alone for long enough, and secondly, it was _cold_ out there.

"You mean other than the fact you were allowed to just walk right in here?" he demanded, trying to ignore the hollowness, the ice he could hear in his voice. But then he had to wonder why he was bothering. There could be ice there. She deserved it. She deserved to be yelled at and screamed at and pelleted with tiny chunks of frozen water. She had betrayed them and nothing could be worse than that. She should feel so goddamn guilty that it wasn't even funny. And the sad thing was that she probably didn't feel guilty. Not at all.

He sunk back against the door, pointedly _not_ looking at the bag of food. Doing that also required that he not breathe through his nose, or rather, not breathe much at all. Because it _smelled so good_ and this was so not fair. Shrugging, he explained, "The leviathans knew about Sam. They knew why he was suddenly having such a hard time with Lucifer. They knew all about the bonds. They knew practically everything about everything that had happened while we were with you." He took a breath and glanced over at the leviathans. Whose bodies were those? Where did they come from? Did they have families too?

...Families they'd never see again and families that would never see them. "So it got me thinkin', y'know?" he continued. "Bobby wouldn't've told 'em. No way, no how. I seriously doubt Sam would've told them, 'specially not in the state I left him in. And even if he had been firing on all cylinders, he's not that self-destructive. I sure as hell didn't tell them. So I had to wonder... who could possibly be left?" One of the leviathans started staring at him like he was a meal. And now he really wished he could go back inside the safe, quiet, almost empty room.

"And then I realized: Oh, _Kathleen, _the only one left. You were so willing to help us yet for some reason... Sam never seemed to be getting any better." Never. He only got worse. And that was the clue - aside from the obvious fact that she was _here_. Sam never failed at anything he put his mind to. School, sports, hunting... He did everything physically possible in order to be the best at whatever it was he was doing. Which meant she hadn't really been helping him. Had she been, Sam could have fixed himself, _would_ have fixed himself. Dean refused to believe anything else. He refused to believe that Sam wouldn't have fixed himself eventually. Because if anyone could face the devil twice and win, it would be Sam. And he had to believe that he hadn't somehow managed to kill that part of his brother.

With that, Dean saw something flicker in her eyes. Not regret or guilt... more resignation. "All facts pointed to a sell-out," he finished, twisting his ring around his finger. It was times like these that he felt a physical absence against his chest. Because as far as nervous habits went, twisting a ring didn't have nearly the same effect as holding onto an amulet.

"I thought you would understand," she whispered. "I thought you... of all people... would get it..."

"Oh, sorry. I usually have a hard time rationalizing things when there's a knife sticking out of my back." It was true. Knives were very uncomfortable.

"You- You were supposed to understand." And really, Dean had had enough of being a moral compass back when Sam was soulless. Far more than enough. Now, he had retired, hung it up, waved goodbye and passed the baton back to the master, A.K.A _Sam_. So there was no way he was going to take up the job again for the sole purpose of explaining to her why it was wrong to give people over to strange men with big mouths.

Rolling his eyes, he stood up straight and started to turn around, hoping he would finally get to go back into the room. Though, with the obvious exception of Sam, in there was not much better than out here... His guidance counselors would have said that he should aimed higher. But then her hand was on his arm, forcing him to turn and look back at her. "You said you didn't regret it," she said, confusion in her voice and on her face. "You said you'd do anything for Sam."

"I would." The response was instantaneous. And really, by bringing Sam into this, she wasn't really helping her case. Sam was off-limits in all forms of bargaining, wheedling, and guilt-tripping. Though the guilt-tripping one was negotiable. "Let go-"

"They're bringing my brother back." Dean froze, but only for a second. Because in the next, he was laughing, forehead falling against the door with an audible _thunk_. He was sure he sounded at least partially unhinged. And at that point, he wasn't so sure he wasn't completely unhinged.

When the dark, semi-morbid humor had passed, he turned around, taking the bag of food from her hand. "They're not. Y'know that, right? They can't do that." He looked inside and found two wrapped up hamburgers and Dean was really about to just turn around and go inside, slamming the door in her face. Because he wanted the food. But then he remembered the boy in the picture Kathleen had, the picture she kept turning towards the wall. The one Dean had thought her to be punishing. And with that, a cold understanding flooded through him._  
><em>

"They can. They can and they're gonna," Kathleen answered, crossing her arms over her chest. He wasn't sure who she was more determined to convince, him or her, but he didn't think it was working either way. Because apparently leviathans lied just as much, if not more, than the demons did.

"They have no connection to heaven or Hell or souls or anything like that. It's impossible," he told her. And he tried to stop the flash of sympathy that pulsed through him, tried to ignore it. But he couldn't. She didn't understand what she was doing; she just wanted her brother back. And that was something Dean could understand better than anyone, past, present, or future.

On the other hand, she had put Sam in danger. Mortal danger. Danger that could leave him in agonizing mental and emotional and physical pain that would slowly kill him and Dean would be forced to watch as he died and then Dean would die from mental torment and there'd be a friggin' ton of dead Winchesters lying around (No, he hadn't had nightmares about that at all). And that was unforgivable. Had she done anything else, Dean might have been able to look past it, one older sibling to another. But from one older sibling to another, she had to know that he couldn't look past this.

"You're right. For them, it is impossible," she conceded. And it took Dean a moment to realize that she was agreeing with him. He had had his argument all prepared, ready to go, and he didn't even need it. Waste of brain power.

Just as he was about to ask her why they were still even having this conversation, she looked up at him, eyes full of resolve, and said, "They can't...

"But Sam can."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Thanks for reading! I hope you all had amazing holidays!_


	22. Chapter 21

_A/N: Okay, so only four chapters left. I'll be posting two today and then one both tomorrow and Friday to finish up. :-)_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>"Um- What now?" Dean choked, hand tightening around the food bag, hunger completely vanished. And that was a real shame because Dean wanted the food.<p>

"If Sam does what they want, he can come back!" she said, eyes wide as if he should understand what she was trying to say. Shockingly enough, he didn't. It all just swirled around in his mind and he kind of hoped that somehow, it'd manage to sort itself out on its own. Because focusing on it, trying to figure it out for himself, would probably make his brain explode.

"What?" That was all he had to say, all he could really think. Because _What!?_

Kathleen paused, eyes glancing between the two leviathans that had taken a sudden interest in their conversation. "They're opening the doors," she told him, head cocked to the side as if she couldn't understand why he didn't already know this. And that was just great. Dean loved being the last to know. It was a hobby of his. "Y'know, the backdoor entrance to Purgatory. Through the cage?" She paused, as if waiting for him to tell her that Yes! Yes, of course he did! Who didn't know about the freaking backdoor entrance to Purgatory through the cage? Pursing his lips, he just shook his head. Because no, he didn't know and he had no idea what she was talking about.

Vaguely, distantly, he remembered someone telling him that Purgatory was Hell adjacent. Cas? Crowley? It didn't matter. But that person also said that it was almost impossible to access, Hell-adjacent or not.

"One of the doors connecting Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory?" she continued, rolling her eyes at him. "Sam's supposed to get Lucifer to open his side of it."

Oh no.

Oh shit.

Oh no, oh shit.

Yeah. Yeah, okay. Dean could see how Purgatory would be nearly impossible to get to.

For everyone but Lucifer.

And Lucifer was impossible to get to.

For everyone but Sam.

Grabbing the woman by her shoulders, Dean demanded, "What side? Are we talkin' about a joined hotel room situation here? _What're they doing?"_ He heard the two leviathans hiss out a laugh, because to them, this situation was hilarious. So funny. So funny that Dean was about two seconds from tearing their heads off with his bare hands.

"Um... Yeah, I guess? They opened the one on Heaven's side when they were the angel and they opened the two in Purgatory when they were there. They just need Lucifer to open his-"

_"Why?"_ Because Dean had never been known for his patience. And she certainly wasn't talking fast enough.

"Okay! Okay, I'm telling you!" Dean knew he should have felt bad about how freaked out she looked. He would've normally, but nothing about this was normal. And the second she put Sam's life on the line, no matter what the reason, his ability to feel any true, full-out regret for her kind of shorted out. "They're trying to take over. They want to rule not only this planet but Heaven and Hell as well. Kind of a revenge thing for being locked up for so long. They wanna be kings of all."

Well, then. That was quite an explanation. And even as his blood ran cold in his veins, he had to wonder if Heaven and Hell didn't somehow deserve it. Or at least, should have expected this. Because if he had been locked up in Purgatory for however many centuries, just like the leviathans, he would've been pretty pissed too.

"So... what?" he hissed, taking a step back and allowing his hands to fall away from her shoulders. "They're gonna grab your brother's soul out of heaven? Drag him here, is that it?"

It was silent for a moment, just a moment, as she shifted on her feet, raising her chin with an amount of defiance that managed to impress even Dean. "Yes." And he had no idea what to say to that. No idea at all. Because if he had been in her position, he couldn't swear that he wouldn't have done the same thing. In reality, he knew that he would've probably done worse. There was no way he would have held out as long as she had without Sam. And he would have done anything, absolutely anything, to bring him back.

"Little brothers..." he sighed. "They're a constant pain in our ass. And I don't know what it is, what they do to us, but no matter what, we're always gonna jump into Hell for 'em." Always. No matter what. Though in Dean's case, he at least knew that his little brother would do the same for him. And there wasn't a fiber in his body that regretted that. There wasn't a piece of him that wished it to be any different. Sure, he wished that they didn't have to go to Hell so damn often, but he didn't wish that he didn't need Sam. Because without Sam, he wasn't sure who he'd be, but he knew he wouldn't like it.

Running his hand down his face, he took a deep breath because she had to know this was wrong, had to know that the leviathans couldn't do what they said they were going to. "They can't help you, Kathleen. If they take over Heaven? Everyone's gonna die, and then? We're all gonna be trapped as leviathan slaves for the rest of forever. It's not gonna save him."

But he could tell from the set of her jaw that nothing he said was going to make any difference. Because it wouldn't have made any difference to him either. "Just tell your brother not to screw this up or your deaths are going to be more painful than anything either of you felt in Hell," she spat and then she was gone, leaving Dean with a bag of food and a cold, sickness in his stomach.

Glancing at the two leviathans, he pushed the door back open, returning to his prison cell.

"Hey." Dean jumped, realizing that he had been staring at the ground for who knew how long. Probably awhile, saying as his body had started to hurt and his knees had locked. Turning, he found Sam staring at him, heel of his hand digging into his eye as if he had just woken up. "You okay?"

Somehow, Dean managed to muster up a tight smile, crossing the room to sit next to his brother. "Yeah. Everything's fine." The lie was thick on his tongue and he could tell Sam didn't believe him either but he was nice enough not to say anything. Though that may have been because all his attention was suddenly on the greasy bag Dean had dumped between them. "I bear gifts." And honestly, Dean wasn't sure there was any gift better at this point. Well, other than the ability to escape, but that one was kind of obvious.

Pulling his sandwich out, Dean started to unwrap it, not even realizing that Sam was staring at him, making no move towards the food. Though he should have noticed. He was trained to recognize a threat up to fifty feet away, if not farther. He had been trained to register, assess, and target an enemy in any number of conditions, all turning him into the insanely badass, ruggedly handsome hunter he was today.

The fact that he hadn't noticed the threat sitting right next to him was inexcusable.

That was why he suddenly found himself sitting on the ground with a sandwich-less hand and an open mouth where said-sandwich was supposed to have gone. "Hey-! ...Bitch!" he exclaimed, though there was a smile in his voice that even he heard when he found Sam against the opposite wall, taking an exaggerated bite out of _his_ sandwich.

And Dean was going to let it go. He really was. Because he was old and mature and a good person and this was really not the time. But then Sam had to act all of two years old and stick his tongue out at him and... And really? He'd totally asked for it.

So that was why Dean full-on tackled his hysterically laughing brother to the ground.

Once they reached an even playing field, the fight for the sandwich was pretty evenly matched. That was until Sam bit him and _licked_ the sandwich bun. And at that point, it was no longer about the sandwich. It was a matter of principle.

So admittedly Dean cheated and used a move on Sam that he hadn't since his brother was eight and it had been banned by their father.

He tickled him.

And from Sam's indignant squawk, it worked just as effectively now as it had then.

The sandwich fell to the ground, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to bound over him and snatch it from the ground. "Ha!" he shouted, stumbling to his feet and sticking his tongue out at his brother. He could be just as immature as Sam. And he didn't even have to work at it.

Taking a huge, exaggerated, smug bite out of the burger, it wasn't until he met his brother's eyes that he remembered that he had just bitten into a sandwich that not only Sam had eaten but had also been all over a floor that most likely hadn't been cleaned once in its entire existence. And that realization was all it took to have him making retching sounds as he spat it back out, dropping the burger and scraping at his tongue with his hand which he would later register was no cleaner.

But then Sam's hysterical laughter cut through his disgusted haze and sent a warmness running through his chest, chasing away the cold his confrontation with Kathleen had left there. It even chased away, for a moment, the knowledge that they were trapped in a room surrounded by creatures that would rather eat them than do anything else with them at all. "That's what- you get... for bein' a jerk!" Sam said as he gasped for air and Dean smiled, scraping his tongue across his front teeth.

"Wouldn't've had to've if you hadn't been a bitch," he returned but there was no heat, no anger behind the statement and it only had Sam laughing harder, grabbing at his stomach.

Which was perfect because laughter made Sam weak. So Dean grabbed the hamburger off the ground and completely ignored his brother's shouts of denial as he proceeded to try and force-feed him the ruined, completely disgusting sandwich.

The distraction from the deep shit they were in was nice, comfortable. And it made him realize he hadn't felt so at home since he had gotten back from Hell.

When Sam finally called a truce and stomped the burger into oblivion against the ground, a wide smile on his face, Dean knew in that moment that no matter what happened next, they were going to be okay. That his Sammy, the one that bitched about his eating habits and knew more about monster lore than was healthy, the one that knew Dean better than anyone and yet, still trusted him more than anyone, was making a comeback. And that finally, they were on the same page. As long as that was true, they could face anything. They always had and always would. So long as they were together.

"How're we takin' 'em down, Sam?" Dean asked, wiping his hands on his pants. Because they had ruined one hamburger, they had had to split the other one. Not that Dean regretted trashing the first one because yeah, he had eaten some gross stuff before but that was a little extreme, even for him.

"Hm?" Sam asked, licking the juice off of his hand and a thought started to poke at the front of Dean's mind. Why wasn't Sam freaking out? Why was he able to eat a hamburger when just a few days ago, he couldn't even look at bacon? Why was he here, laughing and joking around, when a few days ago, he couldn't even look at Dean without screaming his head off?

And Dean wanted to just pass if off as Lucifer having found something else to occupy his time, but the fact that Sam could miraculously stand to be around him, that he had miraculously started getting better the second Dean had taken off to hunt down the leviathans, raised warning flags. Many of them. In bright colors. Specifically shades of red and orange.

"The big mouths," Dean clarified, wishing that Kathleen had included fries in her peace offering. "Kathleen has a habit of spilling secrets and making lives generally miserable so I know all about what the things are doing. My questions is what are _we_ doing?"

Sam sighed, tossing the sandwich wrapper into the bag. "_You_ are going to get the hell out of here," he said, pulling his knees into his chest. And Dean found himself replaying the words in his mind, just to make sure he fully grasped the amount of _stupid_ coming out of his brother's mouth.

"Um... _what?"_ Huh. Second time he had said that in the last four hours.

Shaking his head, swiping his bangs from his eyes, Sam continued, "When things start to go bad, they're gonna get pissed. And they're gonna make sure you get caught in the crossfire." Sam turned to face him, smoothing his hands down his shirt. "So right when things start goin' wrong, they're gonna be distracted and _you_ are going to run."

"What- _No,_" Dean growled, half-offended that Sam would even _think_ he would think about doing that, that he would even consider that as an option. Because it wasn't. Nothing about that was even vaguely a possibility.

"Look, I've already talked to Bobby. He knows what's going down. We have it all planned and he's gonna get me out... Maybe. But you can't be here-"

"No, Sam," he interrupted, turning away from his brother, staring straight ahead at the door. And that was all he was going to say on the matter because it should have been so _painfully_ clear to Sam that it wasn't even funny. It wasn't though, clear or funny. And Dean figured that was probably his fault.

But his brother just seemed content to keep talking. "Dean-"

"No." He turned back, twisting so that his shoulder was pressed against the hard, concrete wall. "How many times do I have to say it to get it through your abnormally thick skull? We're in this together. I know I've screwed up bad. I know I've-" _Broken you,_ but he didn't say that. Instead, he swallowed, continuing, "But it's you and me against the world. In no universe would I ever leave you here." Sam stared at him, jaw working, searching for something to say, maybe something that would make this okay again. Finally, his gaze fell to his lap, hands twisting in the hem of his shirt.

"You and me against the world," he repeated quietly, unsure, as if he couldn't believe that Dean even remembered what that meant. Which wasn't okay because this was the one thing Dean was sure of. Other things, like if they were going to come out of this alive, he wasn't so sure of. But the fact that they were in this together? There was no question.

"Always." Because that was the way it was always going to be, the way it always should have been. And he wasn't going to let anything change that. "So you're gonna cut the crap and tell me what we're doing."

It was quiet for a moment until a small smile pulled at Sam's lip, a real one, strong and reckless. And that spark of defiance started to burn deep in his eyes, the one Dean had been so sure he had killed.

Looking up at Dean, satisfaction filling his voice, Sam said, "I'm only supposed to open one door, the one to Purgatory. So Hell and Heaven connect to Purgatory and Purgatory connects here. What they don't know is that I can yank open the door connecting Hell to here and that Michael can order his angels to open the door from Heaven to here."

Swallowing thickly, Dean pushed his hand through his hair. "Um... okay. What does that mean?"

Sam's smile widened, a dangerous edge to it that Dean couldn't help but mimic. "We're gonna open all the doors. And we're gonna tear this place to shreds."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hope this whole thing isn't too disappointing. Next chapter will be up soon!_


	23. Chapter 22

_**Second chapter today! Be sure to read Chapter 21 as well or nothing will ever make sense again.**_

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p><em>"So you wanna tag team... with me? The Devil?"<em>

_ "No. I want you to do what I tell you to."_

_ "Pretty sure I'll want what you're offering, are you?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "...Because you're bored_..."

Sam could feel every muscle in his body pull tight, tense, and no matter what he tried, he couldn't force himself to relax. He was trying. He was really, really trying. But Dean was right. This was such a bad, bad idea that relaxing wasn't an option. And honestly, the look Dean was giving him, equal parts admiration and disbelief, wasn't helping anything.

But Dean was still there. He was standing by him, not telling him he was stupid for doing this, not calling him a monster for making a deal with Lucifer (even if Dean didn't know the half of it). Just standing there at his side, exuding a calm surety that allowed some of the tension to drain from Sam's body. It was like, despite the fact that this plan was twenty different kinds of insane, Dean had no doubt that they were going to pull it off. And Sam needed that, missed that.

He had told Dean some of the plan. The leviathans did want to become king of the world or the universe or the whole of creation or whatever it wanted to be called. And Sam and Lucifer were going to stop them. And if that didn't sound wrong...

So Lucifer was going to open his door to Purgatory and because the cage was actually metaphorical, he would still be trapped inside it. Like a force field or an electric fence, but instead of keeping dogs inside, it kept in wayward angels.

So the door would be open to Purgatory, just as the leviathans asked. What the leviathans didn't ask though, was for the crossroads. And that was what they had missed, the one thing they hadn't prepared for. The one loophole they had never considered. Because they had just thought that they would open the doors to Purgatory and get everywhere else from there.

But no. No, the warehouse was going to be the crossroads, the space connecting Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

How unfortunate for them.

Because Sam had found that the world was just a cheap blanket. If Lucifer pulled one way and Sam pulled the other, they could tear it apart, creating a one-sided gate to Hell. And lucky for them, the push and pull through the bond could easily do just that.

That would be two doors open, one to Purgatory and one to Hell. And fortunately - or unfortunately depending on your perspective - the warehouse wouldn't be able to handle the crossroads. Hell, nothing could handle the crossroads. That amount of power? That pull between the three metaphysical realms in three different directions? The warehouse would be torn to shreds and the leviathans would be ripped away from the Earth and ripped apart as they flew between Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

Though as easy as that sounded, it really wasn't.

Because Sam had the job of keeping himself and Dean tethered to the earth. As long as he and Dean stayed connected mentally, he could fasten their bond, their consciousness to the planet.

Theoretically.

And that was way easier said than done.

Yet still, all of that would be way easier than telling Dean what he had done. Because he was pretty sure that once Dean found out, he was going to kill him.

* * *

><p>Did Dean like the plan? Not particularly. Did Dean respect it for its insanity? Sure. But at the same time, there was something liberating about it. The last time they had saved the world, they had both known that only one of them was going to come out alive. They had both known that no matter what Dean did, no matter what he tried, Sam was going to die and Dean was going to be left alone.<p>

This time? If the plan went wrong? They were both going down. And as morbid as that was, it actually made him all the more determined to see it through. Because unlike when they had stuffed Lucifer back in his box, this was _their_ plan. They both live or they both die. Just like it always should have been.

So that was why, as they stood next to each other in the middle of the warehouse, surrounded by a sea of leviathans, Dean found himself more comfortable than he had been in forever. The lead leviathan was giving a rousing speech full of encouragement. At least that was what Dean assumed to was supposed to be. What was actually said was "Screw up and you'll be bibbed." And though he wasn't sure what "bibbed" meant, he figured, judging by the shifting and general unease, that the encouragement was more than effective.

Glancing at his brother, he took in the determined set to his jaw, the way it would jump every time the leader gave out instructions. And Dean realized that they were really doing this. That this was happening.

Sam's eyes flickered over to his and Dean watched as a smile grew on his brother's face, one he knew was reflected on his own.

Nodding, Dean gave the cockiest grin he knew how to before turning back to the leader. And as the leviathans cheered, excitement and determination filling the room, he smirked.

These monster-bitches were going down.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Second to last chapter comes tomorrow!_


	24. Chapter 23

_A/N: Okay. This is a really long chapter, guys. Sorry 'bout that..._

_Again, thank you to everyone who's reading this and to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/story alerted this._

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>It all started very calmly. Or rather, as calmly as a situation like this possibly could.<p>

The leviathans began to chant and one side of the warehouse was sucked away, Purgatory appearing in flashes within the space. It was dark, a black-green and a strange color Dean wasn't sure existed in the natural world. A leviathan started yelling at Sam to get the door to Hell open and Dean watched as Sam closed his eyes, body suddenly going very still.

And just as the first rank of leviathans was about to step into Purgatory, all Hell broke loose.

Literally.

Actually, that was when all Hell and all Heaven and all Purgatory broke loose at the exact same instant.

And okay, yeah. That was more than a little impressive.

The roof was gone, just _gone_. A mass of black clouds circled above them, randomly dipping, growling, as if it were being pushed at from above, as if it were alive itself. And though he couldn't be positive, Dean figured it was a safe bet that that was Heaven. Then, in a trench right below where Purgatory met the warehouse, the ground separated, the floor shifting and falling into the hole of red and black and burning.

Hell.

Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to calm his fight-or-flight response as the world began to disintegrate around them, rocks, bricks, entire blocks of cement flying through the air, falling to the floor, crashing into the walls. Metal panels and pipes zipped around them, and the outraged cries of a thousand leviathans filled the air. If there was any air left. Which he really wasn't sure there was.

But then, that definitely was not the most of his problems.

Rather, as everything opened, Sam hadn't quite managed to tether them both to the ground. So Dean suddenly found himself thrown through the air, back slamming into a metal wall twenty feet away. And you'd think he'd be busy checking himself for damage, would think he'd be trying to keep himself on the ground. But no. He was too busy realizing that he could only barely make out his brother, standing in the middle of the room. His brother who was making absolutely no move to escape from the growing vortex of building materials.

Staggering back to his feet, he shouted, "_Sam!?"_ Because that was all that mattered. That and only that. Dean's movements were heavy and uncoordinated, becoming worse with every step he took towards Sam's outline. Like moving through water.

If he had paid attention, he would have seen the way the leviathans were being torn apart, thrown in all directions, dragged into Hell and into Heaven and into Purgatory to be shredded.

However, he did see the last one go, grabbing and scrabbling at the disintegrating ground as an invisible force yanked it into the Hell-gate. And he did hear the screaming stop.

All in all, he figured it was kind of anti-climatic. After all of their careful planning, their holier-than-thou, thou art inferior attitudes, it had taken less than a minute to destroy them all. Eject them from the planet. Tear apart their very ability to exist.

And that was totally awesome. When was anything ever this easy for them? Never. Absolutely never.

Never...

...So...

...why were there _two_ outlines across the room?

Last he had checked, Sam was only one person. Sam was one person and Dean had tried relatively hard to keep him that way. So... if there were no leviathans left... and if Dean was here and Sam was supposed to be here... who the hell was the other person?

His mental calculations were derailed when something hard, overly hard, slammed into his shoulder, sending him staggering backwards, undoing any progress he had made in the forward direction.

Note to self: Pissed off bricks did not pull their punches.

Distantly, he found himself wondering if his shoulder could just snap right off. If it could just be torn away and thrown around the room like any number of things already had been. Because it wouldn't be long until it all was torn apart. All of it. And then where would any of them be?

"_Sammy!?"_ He tried to be loud enough to be heard over the whirring, the crashing, and the general destruction that surrounded them. But instead, he found himself choking on rock and smog and ash, lungs burning and seizing.

Then Sam was _right there_. _Right in front of him_. Even through the black cloud that filled the room, even through the dust and dirt, he could see only Sam. And his entire world narrowed, focused solely on getting his brother _out_.

He took another step forward, one more, before he found himself staggering to a stop, conflicting images welling up in his brain. The world was flickering. _The world was friggin' flickering_. And last he checked, it wasn't supposed to be doing that. It was supposed to stay still. Because when it wasn't still, it was particularly difficult to move or think or breathe or do anything even vaguely normal.

One moment he could see the warehouse. And the next, he saw someplace completely different and the warehouse was gone.

_A destroyed city, like the one he had seen in the post-apocalyptic future. And there was Sam. There was Sam, standing across from him, not too far away, almost near enough to touch._

Snapping back to himself, he dragged in lung-fulls of air and distantly realized that he was on his knees, bent over at the waist. And that wasn't right. When had he gotten there? Where- Where was he even supposed to be...?

Warehouse.

Right, warehouse. Crossroads.

Okay.

Looking up, the two silhouettes stood out so clearly against the dark light from Purgatory. The _two_ silhouettes. And he had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Something important. Something crucial. Something he should_ know_.

All around him, the world was falling apart. The doorways were all eating at the warehouse, swallowing it piece by piece. Heaven pulling everything up, metal scrap after metal scrap disappearing into the dark; Purgatory spreading, working around the outsides; Hell pulling down at the floor. And he could see the Sam _here_, the one that was still standing too far away. The one he could only see through his physical eye. But through his mind's eye, he saw _Sam,_ the one still trapped in his head.

"Sam!?" he called, both in and out of his head. And he didn't want to think about which one was more likely to answer. _"Sammy!?"_

_The Sam in his mind turned to look at him, a shiver wracking the younger's body. Too violent for it to be anything normal. Like he was being yanked in two directions, jolting one way, then the next. "Sorry," Sam said, voice low. "You weren't supposed to get dragged in here. I'm... I'm having a hard time- controlling it..."_

And then Dean's head was bouncing off of the concrete ground. He had fallen sideways at some point, something crashing into his ribs and he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe hardly at all. And again, it wasn't like there was all that much air in there in the first place. The fact that his lungs had decided to revolt probably wasn't making things any better.

His side was burning, his throat fried within an inch of its life, and he had to wonder if he had somehow gotten sucked into the Hellfire. Because he could see it, the fire, flying out through the ever spreading crack in the ground. And he could see straight into the cage, the one place that had only existed in his nightmares.

A place he had seen only through Sam's eyes.

And he was there.

As everything went quiet, he watched as Lucifer and Michael turned to face him, ever so slowly. So slowly, like they had all the time in the world. Which Dean supposed they did.

Lucifer's smile was gleeful, Michael's calculating. And Dean wanted to throw himself at the walls until someone let him out. But there were no walls, were there? He wanted to yank on that damn rope in his brain until Sam pulled him up. But he didn't know how to do that either. And a part of him wondered if this was how it was going to end. Karmic retribution. For all the Hell he had put Sam through, for the fact that he had essentially sent Sam back here himself, he figured he kind of deserved this.

"Oh, don't worry, Dean," Lucifer sighed. "We won't touch you. You're too boring." Picking at his nails, he absently muttered, "Good thing we have Sammy."

Dean's entire body jolted. Sam. Sammy. Not Sammy. And Dean realized right then why this place was so horrifying. The cage was built from hopelessness, had had that emotion all but melted into its metaphysical bars. Dean should have known he wouldn't be left here. Dean should have known there was no way Sam would leave him alone down here, no way Sam wouldn't find some way to get him out.

...But Dean didn't get Sam out, did he? Not for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years...

_Stop_!

Wrapping an arm around his chest, he growled, "You don't, you bastard. You don't have Sam and you're never gonna have Sam. Never again." And even through the constant pounding against his brain, the never-ending _failure, wrong, couldn't save him_, he knew that. Because he didn't have to have hope to believe that. Just like you didn't need hope to know the sky was supposed to be blue. It was just a fact. Something no amount of self-doubt could change.

"Really?" Lucifer answered, pursing his lips as he raised his gaze. "You should really talk to Sammy about that." In that moment, Dean's mind went silent. The growing sense of desperation pausing in its spread, because his mind wasn't able to process both that statement and everything else at the same time.

He watched their smiles grow with a sick sense of emptiness in his chest, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, the world in Dean's mind melted and all he could see was wreckage.

_"Sam!?"_ he shouted, almost growled. Because first, it was a bit concerning that he could reach Lucifer in his mind just as easily as Sam could. Second, they had to get out of the warehouse, had to escape before they ended up worse off than the leviathans. And third, he needed an explanation. Because Lucifer was a bastard and Dean needed to know what the hell he was talking about.

But then, as he took in his surroundings, all other thoughts vanished. There was Sam, standing across from him in the middle of a destroyed city. Buildings were crumbling, bricks slipping into the street as he stood there. It was so much like the future he had seen it was terrifying. Yet this time, Sam wasn't Lucifer. He wasn't Lucifer and this entire world was dreamed up between them.

But then, there was a warehouse. Somewhere. Wasn't there? He had just been there. There were leviathans and bricks and... That's where he was supposed to be... Right?

And then he could see it. His mind divided, the worlds layering on top of each other, the city and the warehouse stacked, fading through each other in his vision. "Sam?" he shouted again. "Sammy!?"

_"It's hard to shut off, Dean," _the Sam in Dean's head said, turning to look at him, not even flinching as the building behind him crumbled and collapsed. _"Sorry about that. The cage wasn't... and you aren't... I'm working on it..._"

Dean could see a wound, sluggishly leaking blood on Sam's forehead. And it took him far too long, longer than he figured they had, to determine that it was there on both the physical and the mental Sam. "You're bleeding," Dean returned, cutting him off. Because Sam seemed to be having a difficult time forming sentences. And the less strain Dean put on him at this point, the less possibility there was that their bond would disconnect and one of them would be thrown into Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory.

Sam shrugged, lips quirking upwards. _"Lucifer doesn't like us much,"_ Brain-Sam answered, explanation enough.

Pushing himself up, ignoring the pain that lanced through his body, Dean resumed his trek forwards. But it _hurt._ Because his arm was throbbing and he could feel the cage, could feel the box built of pain and agony and desperation and hopelessness. And it wanted him there. It wanted him there and Dean had to try impossibly hard not to think about how much of that pain and agony and desperation and hopelessness belonged to Sam.

"Sammy..." Dean whispered and the Sam in his head nodded, eyes scanning out over the wasteland of a city. Though Dean wasn't sure what question it was Sam thought he was answering, what he was nodding for, but he knew it was important. It was always important. Finally, the physical Dean reached his brother's side, wind whipping at his face, slapping him harder than any number of women he had unintentionally insulted. He gripped at his brother's shoulder, shaking him with one hand as his other hand stayed tightly wrapped around his ribs.

But Brain-Sam laughed, humorless and empty. _"I'm not... not really there right now, Dean. You wanna talk, you gotta come in here."_

And before he had even considered that a possibility, Dean went, falling completely into his mind. And there he was, standing next to his brother in the middle of a destroyed city.

_As his gaze slipped across the space, he realized his previous descriptions had been wrong. The city wasn't completely demolished, wasn't as destroyed and rundown and screwed up as the city he had seen in the future. Rather, only some of it was. The rest of it was beautiful, skyscrapers stretching upwards in ways that would shame even the best of architects. Intricately perfect in their designs. But before his very eyes, the buildings nearest to him started to decay, the bricks turning old and unstable, decades of neglect passing in less than a second. Any building still standing was being ripped down, torn apart brick by brick by brick. Explosions rang through the air, the sound of metal slamming into concrete causing Dean to flinch._

_Shaking his head, Sam sighed, "Shut up. We can't all have forests for brains." Forests for... Forests... Dean hadn't realized he'd said any of that out loud. Actually, he was pretty positive he hadn't. And now he was more than concerned by the fact that_ this,_ this collapsing wasteland,__ was Sam's _brain_. "Kinda pulled you in here 'cuz I don't really have the juice right now to stop it so just... hang tight for a minute..."_

_ Hang tight?_

_ Hang tight._

_ Yeah. That was totally going to happen. Dean was awesome at that._

_"What're you doing, Sam?" he breathed, following the track of Sam's eyes. Rubble stretched out from where they were standing, as far as he could see in front of him, melding into the yellowish-brown sky so that it was almost impossible for him to tell where one stopped and the other began._

_A small smile appeared on Sam's face, one so fake that it actually hurt to look at. "I know you're worried, but don't be," he said, quietly, calmly. As if this was the most normal thing he could possibly be doing while the world outside was busy imploding. "It's my head. I'm pretty used to it even if it's not... usually in such a physical form, but..." His words drifted away and Dean was about to poke him or hit him or do something to drag him back to the present. If this was the present. But then Sam continued, "Y'know, if you can get dragged into the cage through your mind, it's so easy to push yourself into different corners of your brain. Had to figure that out for myself. So I guess this is what my memory banks look like..."_

_Memory banks._

_A city. And as Dean stood there, he heard the deafening sound of another building collapsing, the sound echoing away through the space. Flipping around to stare at what was left of the city, he whispered, "You're tearing it down..." Honestly, tearing down your memory banks didn't seem like that great of an idea. Actually, it sounded like a frickin' terrible idea. "Why are you tearing it down, Sam!? Stop it! We've gotta get outta here!"_

_Grabbing his brother's wrist, he tugged at him, as if it were physically possible for him to pull Sam out of his own head. Though he knew it wasn't. Not like this. "Y'know the world? That place we always gotta save? Yeah, well it's _literally_ collapsing around us out there! Sam!" he demanded again, though even to him, it sounded more like pleading than an order._

_He flinched as another building caved in on itself. The entire place looked like a bomb had gone off, like it had been set on fire and then had the fire put out only for a demolition crew with a trigger-happy foreman to come through and slam holes into everything. __"Just shut it down, Sam." Though he knew it couldn't be that easy. It couldn't possibly be that simple._

_"You don't get it, Dean!" Sam shouted over the ringing of an explosion. "Lucifer's _pissed_. He's pissed and he wants out! He's never gonna let go of his side of the door from here to Hell! The only way to make it stop is to cut the bond! That's the only way we can get out!"_

_"But you can't cut it," Dean returned. "You've never done it before!"_

_"No time like the present, right?" And that was definitely not what Dean wanted to hear. After weeks of trying, of not being able to do it, how the hell was Sam supposed to just be able to do it now? Right now? With no preparation, with no practice. How was he supposed to manage it before they both died?_

_As Dean watched, the skyline of the city completely fell apart, debris setting through the air, spreading in a cloud across the fallen remains of the city. And somehow, it all looked more morbid than any of the bodies he had ever seen, more grim than any of the graveyards he had ever walked through. "Dean?" Sam suddenly said, like that fall had triggered something in him. But all Dean could see as he stared at his brother's profile was the defeated look on his face, the pain burning deep in his eyes. "I've... I've done something... and you're not gonna like it."_

_Okay. When Sam started admitting that he'd done something bad, when he got that godforsaken kicked puppy look on his face, Dean knew there had to be something wrong. More than wrong. He took an aborted step forwards, flinching as a blast of heat hit him from the side. "I mean, it wasn't like it didn't need to happen," Sam continued quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just wish there was another way, y'know? And I don't know if I can do what I've promised." It wasn't until then that Dean realized that Sam's mouth had stopped moving, that he was actually reading his brother's thoughts. And when the next sentence came, he knew Sam wasn't even aware he had heard it. "I'm scared."_

_"Sam-" he started, reaching his hand out towards his brother's elbow, but then Sam's head snapped up, eyes darting out across the distance. And he was off, tearing through the wreckage. "Shit." Really, Dean had no choice but to run after him. Though even if he had had another choice, he would have run anyways._

_After what felt like miles, Sam finally staggered to a stop and Dean gasped air into his burning lungs. "Sam, what the hell is-"_

_But Sam wasn't paying any attention to him. He was too busy pushing back layer after layer of debris, digging down into the ground. And honestly, Dean didn't even want to think about what that meant saying as this was Sam's _brain._ "Found it!" Sam shouted victoriously, yanking a cable out of the ground. From where Sam held it, Dean could see it stretch far away from them on either side, traveling for miles underneath the dirt and the debris and the everything that cluttered Sam's mind. Going on forever and ever. Driving down through the very-_

_That was when Dean got it._

_"It's the connection," he whispered, staring into his brother's face. "To Lucifer." Sam's smile grew as he nodded and pulled, yanking up another foot to either of his sides._

_Glancing up at him for a moment, Sam wiped one hand on his thigh. "Help me cut it."_

_Dean knew he should have come up with something to say. Probably something along the lines of "God, I'm so goddamn sorry, Sammy." Because there it was. The source of all of his brother's pain and agony and suffering. Right there in the most physical form it could be._

_The cable burned a deep red and Dean had seen blood, Sam's blood, enough times to know that the color of the outside of the tether matched it exactly. And he had seen bone enough times - on dead bodies, after a particularly bad dislocation - to know that beneath all of that red, there was pure white. Ivory. Blood and bone, stretching on to leave Sam forever connected to the devil._

_Yes, he should have said something. Probably would have too. But as he took a step forwards, one step, a horrible, ear-piercing scream sliced through the air. _

_Slamming his hands over his ears, his eyes darted around, realizing that first, he wasn't screaming, and second, Sam wasn't screaming..._

_So who the hell was it?_

_"You ruined everything!" a very distinct, very familiar, very female voice shouted. "You screwed it all up, you bastards!" Dean flipped around and somehow, he wasn't surprised when he found that standing right there, right in front of them, was Kathleen, fury and hatred painted across her face. "You're gonna die for this. You're both gonna _die_ again and again and again!" And then her hand flew out and they were both thrown backwards, away from the tether._

_Dean gasped as his back once again slammed into metal and shrapnel and he knew that that really couldn't be good for him. It took longer than normal for the world to stop spinning but once it finally did, he gasped, jumping backwards. Because she was _right there_ with absolutely no consideration for his personal space. "How the hell are you even here?" he demanded, gripping at his aching side. The one he hoped was still vaguely in tact._

_Kathleen smiled, cold, cruel, and so downright terrifying that Dean knew that if he managed to survive, he was going to have nightmares about that for a long time. "Dean, Dean, Dean," she sighed. Just sighed. And he found himself grabbing at his neck, airways constricted as he was lifted up into the air. "The mind is my playground. I can do whatever I want, make whatever I want in here. And I've been working bonds longer than you've been alive. They're so easy to manipulate. Even easier than people."_

_Her words cut in and out as his vision grayed, fading away. But before it could go completely, he was on the ground, scrambling backwards, hoping to god he wouldn't catch tetanus by cutting himself on something in his brother's brain. Because that would be particularly difficult to explain._

_But instead of cutting himself, his hand hit something warm and Sam-like. "Sammy?" he hissed, shoving at his brother's side. Sam didn't respond though. Only silence. And it was with a sick settling in his stomach that Dean turned around to look. Sam was grabbing at his head, blood streaming and dripping from his nose. "Sam!" The panic in his voice was so clear, so obvious even to him, as he pressed his hand into Sam's back. But Sam didn't hear him. Probably didn't even know he was there. Because Sam was babbling, breath coming out in strained pants. And though he really didn't know what was going on, Dean did know that Sam couldn't last much longer like that._

_Even then, the world around him dimmed, went hazy, like Sam wasn't able to maintain it. Like the mind that held them both was fading away._

_"Oh, the poor dear." Flipping around, Dean placed himself between his brother and the psycho-bitch who wouldn't leave them alone. "Seems his brain can't handle supporting three bonds. Yours, mine, Lucifer's... It's being torn apart. Must hurt really bad," she said, bottom lip pursing, oozing with fake sympathy. And then Dean could feel it. Dean could feel Sam's pain, like a switch had been flipped, allowing it all to shoot through his brain. He doubled over, unable to see anything, to feel anything except the pounding agony. And in his mind, all he could think was that this was what Sam was feeling. That this is the pain his baby brother had been suffering through for who knew how long._

_But it stopped._

_It just stopped and Kathleen was in his face again._

_"See what I can do, Dean? Minds are so changeable. That block little Sammy put up between his pain and yours might as well be paper in my hands. I can make any bond do whatever I want." Pulling back, she seemed to consider something and then shrugged. Sadly, regrettably, she added, "Except for yours and Sam's. After you started to rebuild yours, I couldn't touch it. Which was really disappointing because do you have any idea the kind of things I could have done with a bond that strong? But see-" she knelt in front of him, tapping his forehead, "-I can do whatever I wanted to Sam and Lucifer's. Make it stronger. Suggest what Lucifer makes him see."_

_All to weaken his and Sam's bond, Dean realized. All to keep it from growing back. And then-_

_No way._

_Oh, no way in Hell._

_As he clutched at his side, pain settling deep in his bones, he rested his hand on his brother's back and growled, "You made him afraid of me." It wasn't a question, didn't need to be because Dean _knew_. "You made me- You made me hurt him, you bitch!" Next thing he knew, he was on his feet, pressing his forearm against her throat._

_He wasn't sure what he had planned to do after that, probably nothing at all, but he had needed to do something. Because he wasn't sure there was a single moment in his life - aside from the numerous times Sam had died - more agonizing than when Sam had recoiled at the sight of him, had curled up in that corner and screamed every time he went near. Because Sam was never supposed to be terrified of him. Never._

_She laughed, sending him to his knees as pain shot through his head. "You snapped the bond all by yourself, Dean. You started the ball rolling and you made it so easy to keep rolling. You laid the groundwork so perfectly that I really didn't need to do much of anything. Well, until I needed you to leave. And you wouldn't do it." No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't leave Sam. Never again. Never again was he going to leave Sam and never again was he going to hurt him._

_As the pain doubled and everything started to go dark, he thought he heard Sam scream his name. As if from the end of a tunnel, he thought he heard his brother whisper that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell him that that was his line. But then the heavy weight of a gun fell into his hand and the pain stopped._

_There was a moment of confusion on everyone's part, both Dean and Kathleen staring at the newly appeared weapon in his head. Then the strong, "Take that, bitch," came from Sam and Dean smirked, firing straight at the woman's heart._

_At least, where her heart would have been had she been where she was a moment ago. But she wasn't._

_She had disappeared._

_"Where the hell did she go?" Dean demanded and Sam shrugged, pushing himself up onto his elbows, eyes flickering around. And Dean wanted to let it go at that. He was about to call it over and done with and pretend that they had won._

_But then Sam had to go and yell, "Dean!" and point behind him._

_He was firing before his eyes had even locked onto a target. But he had seen a glimpse of her, just a flash, and she was gone again, bullet flying through the empty air. "Go, Sam! Cut the tie!" Dean shouted, standing knees bent as he prepared for the next attack._

_There she was, just out of the corner of his eye._

_Then she was behind him._

_At his left._

_Right._

_He shot again and again, but he never hit._

_"I can do this forever," she said, voice echoing all around him. "But the warehouse won't last that long. And unfortunately - for you... neither will Sam." Freezing, muscles locking, Dean flipped around to face his brother. Sam was staggering, blood running from his nose in streams. And Dean knew that being conscious, being able to move at all without screaming and somehow, still keeping Hell at bay, was killing him. It was clear in every step Sam took, and when he knelt, pulling at the bond, Dean knew that they had to end this. And they had to end it now._

_Kathleen's laughter shook the air and Dean lashed out with his elbow, managing to catch her right in the face. Sure, it was a lucky shot, but it had hit, and that was what mattered. She staggered back, gripping at her nose as she growled, like a rabid animal. And Dean was shocked that someone that little and originally nonthreatening, someone who had originally looked so nice, could even make a sound that terrifying._

_She lunged at him, slamming into his shoulder with enough force to send him crashing into the ground. Raising the weapon, he had it pointed at her chest, was about to fire when her hand tightened into a fist. And that was all it took to have Sam screaming and the gun flickering before it disappeared completely. "Sammy!?" Dean shouted, kicking her off of him, his booted foot landing against her side. "Sam!?" Rolling to his feet, he glanced over at his brother who was hunched over, one hand pressed to his forehead while his other frantically tugged and pulled and tore and did everything it could to destroy the cable in the ground._

_Before Dean could take another step, make a move in any direction, he felt his feet leave the ground and he was thrown through the air, breath forced from his lungs as white spots danced across his vision. "Shit," he swore, shaking his head as he forced himself to his feet once again._

_She was gone._

_But not for long._

_And neither one of them could keep doing this._

_Looking up, Dean met his brother's gaze and tried to say everything he possibly could in that look, everything he had always meant to say and had somehow, run out of time to. And in that one instant, in the minute nod he gave Sam, they communicated better than if they had talked for a thousand years. It was, "I know you can do this," and, "I'm sorry," and "I know," and, "Whatever happens, it's okay. _We're_ okay."_

_And a part of Dean really wanted to think that that had something to do with the sudden strength, the sudden light of confidence that appeared in his brother's eyes._

_But then the end came._

_And it came faster than he had expected._

_One moment, he was staring at his brother._

_In the next, the bond to Lucifer was separating, thread after thread unraveling, spinning away, deep into the base of Sam's mind. And Dean wanted to be relieved, wanted to thank whatever gods he could think of._

_But Sam was staggering. Sam was weaving like a drunk but totally wasn't drunk and Dean was forced to watch, shock freezing him in place as his brother fell to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth. "No!" he shouted, running forwards as Sam's body collapsed sideways. "No, Sammy!"_

_Sliding to his knees, he was just about to grab his brother's shirt when Sam started to convulse. He started to shake and jerk as the heavy weight of a gun landed back in Dean's hand._

_Before he had even fully registered the weapon's presence, he pushed himself up on his knees, flipping around and firing. And in doing so, it took him several seconds to realize that the pain that came with that, that the sudden air sucking agony that spread through his abdomen wasn't normal._

_The bullet had made contact though. The bullet had hit her because she was staring down at him, eyes wide and surprised, mouth hanging open as she gripped at the wound in her chest. And distantly, Dean wanted to tell her that it was better now. That maybe, if Heaven was particularly forgiving, she could be with her brother now._

_But he didn't. He didn't say anything._

_Because he was too busy staring down at his stomach and at the knife that stuck out of it._

_His hand slid in the blood that pooled around the wound, caught in his shirt. His hand slipped across a metal panel below him that was now covered in red. And he almost wondered what the side-effects were to having blood fill your memory banks. Not that it mattered all that much anymore. They were both dead or dying anyways._

_Gasping, he realized that his lungs weren't working right either, that they burned and that with every inhale, deep shudders ran through his entire body._

_And as his eyes raised to the skyline, he watched the last building in the city fall and Sam's mind disintegrated around him._

It happened so abruptly it was like being hit.

He snapped back to the outside world and if his body wasn't already so preoccupied, he probably would have puked. But as it happened, his body was too busy do to any such thing. Curling in on his side, he spat blood out onto the ground. Though it didn't do him any good. More blood welled up in its place, clogging and filling his throat.

And he had to think that maybe he was drowning.

Right before he had come back to himself, he had hoped that if something happened in Sam's mind, it wouldn't actually be that way in the real world. That if it was all metaphysical, then it couldn't hurt the physical. But then, he had seen what had happened to Sam with Lucifer. He had seen the blood covered car what felt like forever ago. Which meant that of course, he was wrong. He couldn't have it any other way.

Coughing as opposed to swallowing, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to die. And that wasn't really a strange or miraculous or shocking thing for a person to think at a time such as this. It was just one of the things that filtered through your mind, distantly, when you knew what was about to happen. And honestly, you'd think he'd have died enough to be used to the whole thing. You'd think he'd be used to the terror that came with it, the denial, the knowledge that he was about to leave the only place he had ever really known. But he wasn't.

He wasn't...

Peeling his eyes open, his breath hitched, caught, and a strange calm overcame his body.

He wasn't used to it at all.

But Sam was there.

Sam was right there, lying on the ground next to him.

Sam was _there_. Sam was with him. And really, wasn't that all he had ever needed?

The warehouse was gradually falling apart, the doors to Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory slowly sliding shut as the bond holding them open was severed, but none of that was what he focused on. None of it even registered because none of it mattered anymore.

So as he felt his life drain away, quickly, too quickly, as he coughed the blood out of his lungs and body, he used what little energy he had left to push himself a few inches further across the floor, refusing to look back and see the trail of blood he knew he was leaving.

Just to reach Sam.

Lifting his arm, he draped it across Sam's chest, twisting and latching his hand in his brother's shirt. To ground him, he supposed. And he guessed that made sense. Because Sam had always been his anchor. The world could spin away, the floor beneath him could fall, and all he'd ever need to be grounded was Sam.

A tear slid down his cheek as his brother's eyes flew open and met his. And he could see the acceptance there, the acceptance he knew was mirrored in his own gaze.

They had saved the world over and over again. They had kicked ass and taken names. They had carried on the family business.

And now they were done.

With some of the last strength he had available, he used his grip to drag himself even closer to his brother's side. And Dean pressed his cheek against the top of Sam's head, just holding him there, as if he could still protect him. Even now. Even at the end.

And Sam stared up at him as if he believed that he actually could.

Tightening his hold, Dean started humming, hardly able to hear himself over the whirring and screaming around him. But he knew that Sam would be able to feel it reverberate in his chest. And he knew that Sam would know what he was humming and what it meant.

_"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

_Don't carry the world on your shoulders..."_

As he sang, he waited. Just held Sam and waited.

Waited as Sam's body jerked and seized beneath his arm.

Waited as he choked and gasped, heaving up more blood than he knew he could afford.

Waited as he felt Sam's breathing stop, the comforting, familiar rise and fall of his brother's chest stilling.

Just held on as a final tear slid down his cheek.

_See ya on the other side, Sammy._

...And he died.

* * *

><p><em>AN: One chapter left. Hope this conclusion isn't too disappointing._

_P.S. If you didn't already know, the lyrics to "Hey Jude" belong to The Beatles. Not me. Shock!_


	25. Chapter 24

_A/N: Final author's note on the final chapter!_

_Again, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story and made it all the way to this chapter, almost 80,000 words later. Without all of you who reviewed, story alerted, and favorited, I probably never would have finished this. So thank you. This entire story is for you guys._

_Also, special thanks to SPNMum, luvwinchesterboys, and PutMoneyInThyPurse for their amazing dedication and encouragement. You guys are the best._

_Now, so as not to further annoy anyone who bothered to read this, here is the final chapter._

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

_AU after episode 7x04_

* * *

><p>Dean awoke to the steady beep of a heart monitor.<p>

And yeah, that was familiar enough that it took him less than an instant to register the sound and determine where he was.

A hospital. Which meant he wasn't dead. Well, he supposed he could be, but then, his Heaven must be really screwed up, more so than he had even thought.

Anyways, he was going to operate under the assumption that he had somehow miraculously managed to survive and had wound up at a very human, very Earth-bound hospital. And he would have liked to say that that thought comforted him. He would've like to say that he was relieved that he was alive, that he was as happy as he could possibly be, that he wanted to get on his knees and thank every deity he could think of.

Because if he could say any of those things, that would mean he wasn't completely screwed up.

But as it was, he really was completely screwed up. Shocker.

Because all he felt was a heart-stopping, heart-monitor-destroying panic that left him sitting bolt upright in his bed.

"Dean! Thank god! You scared the crap out of me!" That sound took less time to process than the heart-monitor did, and with it, his panic just faded away. Grabbing at his brother's face, he tilted it to either side, searching for the damage he knew there had to be. And shockingly enough, Sam just let him do it. Let him fuss over him and check his pupils for sign of a concussion.

And distantly, Dean realized that he should probably have been worried about that.

Running his fingers through his brother's hair, scratching at his scalp in search of the head-wound that was there in the warehouse, he let himself breathe. Because Sam was there.

"Y'know, the doctors already did that." Yeah, yeah. Dean hadn't expected anything less. But really, they were _doctors_.

So Dean grabbed his brother's chin, once again staring into his eyes. "Yeah well... Stupid quacks... don't trust 'em any further than I could throw 'em-"

"Which, given your condition, isn't at all." Sam smiled tiredly, like he was indulging a hyperactive child. And no, Dean didn't appreciate that. But he supposed that at least this way, Sam was letting him check him. And that was far easier than listening to Sam shout and whine until Dean sat on him and forcibly completed his examination.

Staring at him for another minute, Dean made sure that there weren't any hints that his brother's brain was hemorrhaging or that Sam's eyes were going to randomly pop out or that he was about to just up and die. Because that wouldn't be acceptable.

After a raised eyebrow from his brother, he sighed and sunk back against the pillows, silently accepting that Sam was okay. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, scrubbing his hand down his face. First, why was he in the hospital? Second, why was he in the hospital and Sam not? because Sam had been pretty bad off at that damn warehouse. Bad off as in _dead_. Third, how did they even get to said-hospital? Fourth, and probably most importantly, how the hell were they not dead?

"Just happened?" Sam repeated, an incredulous edge to his voice. And Dean was going to ask about that, his forehead wrinkling, but Sam just shook his head as if to clear it and continued. "Bobby got us out after the place'd collapsed. Found our bodies. But uh... Hell saved us."

...Hell.

Hell didn't save anyone. Hell was _Hell_.

"Technically," Sam sighed, "we were both dead. But y'know, the doorway to Hell hadn't closed yet and were in this like... space between Hell and Purgatory and Heaven that was all three places at once so... like in Hell... We died and were brought back to life."

"So then, if Hell has the miracle cure for everything, why are we _here?"_ And that was the question, wasn't it? Because Sam was fine. Sam wasn't hurt at all, not so much as a scratch on his face. And Dean couldn't feel anything hurt. Sure, he was a little stiff, but that certainly wasn't a hospital-worthy injury. So why was he in a frickin' hospital bed?

But then, when Sam looked up at him, eyes boring deep into his own, he figured that was the wrong question to ask. "Because you wouldn't wake up." And Dean honestly had no idea what to do with the amount of accusation in that statement. It was said in the same voice Sam had used when he was fifteen and Dean had woken up in the hospital after being mauled half-to-death by a black dog. A characteristic voice of a little brother, one who was scared and pissed off and didn't know what to do with either. And though Dean knew he was strange, he honestly couldn't have been more happy to hear it. "You healed and you were fine, but you went into like... a _coma, _man. You've been out for days." His voice cracked on the last word, more broken than if this had just been about Dean's lack of awareness. And Dean knew that was important. Very important. He just didn't know _why_.

"So physically... I'm good?" he asked, eyeing the IV and numerous wires sticking out of his forearm. Sam muttered in acquiescence, though it really wouldn't have mattered either way. Smirking, he continued, "Alright. Let's get outta here then. Where's Bobby?"

"Getting coffee- Dean!" Sam snapped, lunging out of his chair too slowly to stop Dean from yanking the IV out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Jesus. Stop it, Dean!" Huge hands locked onto Dean's shoulders in an attempt to hold him down, but Dean just glared up at him.

"Sam-"

"No!" Sam shouted, and distantly, Dean found himself wondering how much longer they were going to be able to get away with this before a nurse came in and yelled at them for being too loud.

But then, when he met Sam's gaze, he realized that that was nowhere near the biggest of their problems. Sam was looking at him with those goddamn _wet eyes_. The ones filled with tears that Sam never let overflow. Because he was that strong, or felt he needed to be. And Dean knew in that moment that his was much more serious than Sam not wanting him to stand up. "I thought I'd killed you, Dean," he whispered, breath catching.

Shaking his head, Dean returned, "What're you-"

"I cut the bond," Sam explained, and yeah, Dean knew that. He had been there when it happened. "For the first time, I managed to cut it. And then you wouldn't wake up." He turned away, rubbing his hand down his face. "And I thought I'd done something wrong... something to _our_ bond that did that to you. Because you were supposed to wake up. I'd woken up! I'd woken up and you hadn't so why the hell didn't you wake up, Dean!? With everything else goin' on, you couldn't _get up!? _I thought we were alive and had made it and then you had to go and be _you _and not get up when you're supposed to because you never wake up and I swear to god, if I wasn't there you'd sleep forever and never ever get up ever and-"

Dean pushed himself up on wobbly legs, crossing the space between them in two steps. Wrapping his arms tightly around his brother, Dean closed his eyes, hoping that Sam would realize that he was here, that they were there, and they were going to be okay.

It took Sam a minute to get with the program, but eventually he did, arms hesitantly coming up around Dean's back, fisting in the material at his shoulder blades. And as everything slammed into him, all the close calls they had had, all of the times he'd thought they were done for, Dean figured he needed the reassurance just as much as Sam did. So he tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Sam's neck and let his little brother bury his face in his shoulder, as if Dean could hide him from the world forever.

Because it had all nearly crushed them both. Between Sam's Hell, Kathleen's betrayal, the leviathans and their kidnappings, the leviathan's, deaths, Lucifer's deal, Dean's, Sam's, and Kathleen's deaths-

Wait.

Deal.

_Lucifer's_ deal.

_"I've done something...and you're not gonna like it." _

_"It wasn't like it didn't have to happen."_

_"I'm scared_."

_"You should really talk to Sammy about that."_

_Talk to Sammy..._

_Talk to-_

Dean's stomach dropped like it was full of lead.

"What did you do, Sam?" Sam tensed, body seizing like he'd been tasered. Because he knew. Shit, he knew exactly what Dean was talking about. There wasn't any question there. "What did you promise him?" Pulling away, his hand squeezed what he was sure had to be almost painfully around the back of his brother's neck, refusing to let him go too far. But despite that, Sam's gaze fell away. He wouldn't look at him. He _wouldn't looked at him_ and that wasn't good. Not at all. "You want me to guess? That it?" he demanded, shaking Sam and now he _knew_ his grip had to hurt. But there was no response. Not even the barest of reactions. "We both know Luci didn't do all that out of the nonexistent good in his nonexistent heart. So what was it? _Sammy?"_ he snapped.

Something in his voice must have finally struck a chord because even though he kept his eyes on the floor, Sam started talking. "I had to do it. I had to, Dean. And yeah, maybe there was another way, but I couldn't find it and you'd be dead if I hadn't. _Everyone_ would be dead if I hadn't and... I don't know-"

_"Sam!"_ In that moment, Dean heard his father. And that scared him, almost more than he was sure it scared Sam. But their eyes finally locked and Sam relented, even as his gaze once again slipped away.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "I have to go back to the cage."

Dean's entire body went numb. And he was sure that wasn't a good thing. Not a good thing at all, but he couldn't focus on that. Not as his hands fell from his brother's shoulders, not as he staggered backwards as if he'd been hit. And he was honestly shocked that his knees hadn't given way, that he hadn't wound up on the floor. After a moment, he realized that was because his knees had decided to lock instead.

"The break in the connection's only temporary," Sam continued. "Kathleen said so which means it'll regrow in a couple weeks and I... I had to do something to make him help. I couldn't pull him out of Hell again which is what he wanted so I gave him the next best thing." _Entertainment_, the horrible, unhelpful voice in Dean's head supplied. The one that had a sick fascination with watching Dean puke his guts up.

Sam shrugged, head tilting to the side as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. And suddenly, the bed behind him was the only thing that was keeping Dean standing. "You're kidding... Right, Sam? This is some sick, warped joke to get me back for goin' comatose on you." He really tried to make that out to be an order, but even he could hear the note of begging slip, inch its way into his tone. And as pissed as he'd be if this were a joke, as much as he knew Sam would never do that to him, he wished with his entire being that this was all a lie. A nightmare. Something - _anything__ -_ other than reality. "Tell me... Say you didn't sell your soul for this!"

Hadn't he learned better? Didn't he friggin' know better than that after all these years!?

Though, Dean remembered a conversation held what seemed like forever ago in an abandoned living room. Knowing what he knew now, would he still sell his soul for Sam at Cold Oak?

Yes.

Always.

But Sam wasn't allowed to do that. He wasn't. He couldn't.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but then he just shrugged, an apologetic smile forced onto his face. "I had to, Dean," he responded. "You were gonna die and... I had to-"

"You didn't have to do anything!" Dean shouted. And he could feel himself slipping, sliding into the brother he didn't want to be anymore. "You didn't- You should have stayed away! Like you promised! You should've-"

"And what was I s'posed to do then, huh?" Sam demanded, his own anger coming through. And Dean knew this argument was going to get really out of hand really fast. "Let the leviathans eat you? Watch them rip you apart? No, thanks. I had enough of that in Hell-"

"I trusted you, Sam! I trusted you not to do something stupid! I shouldn't've-"

"What, Dean!? Shouldn't've _what_!?" Sam shouted, but Dean could barely hear him over the resounding chorus of S_hit_ and _Please, God, no_echoing through his head. "Trusted me!? 'cuz yeah, you really should've known better! After I let Lucifer-"

"That's not what this is about, Sam!" Dean interrupted, hoping that Sam would just drop that train of thought right then and there. Because really, he couldn't be dealing with that no-longer-an-issue when he was trying to deal with a very current, very real one.

"-But I made sure to do the right thing this time! I made sure it was only going to be me to get hurt! And look! The world is friggin' fine! Great, in fact! And you're alive! I made the right call-"

"No! No, you didn't. What were you even thinking!?" Dean demanded, hand fluttering at his side. "You weren't! _You're going to Hell!_ You're gonna be dragged back into Hell and this time, there's no Cass, no angels, no nothing to drag you back out! Shit, Sammy, I think I'm gonna puke-" Dean doubled over, hand wrapping around his stomach. He saw Sam's feet start to come towards him, but he just held up his hand, trying to keep him back. Because he could do this. Really. He could. He wasn't... He wasn't going to throw up. Nope.

Pushing himself to his feet, he dragged in deep breaths through his nose. If he ignored it, maybe the sick swooping in his gut would go away. "M'kay, so we need a way to permanently break the connection, right? If we do that, he can't get you."

"Dean..." Sam whispered, but Dean just ignored him. He couldn't plot, not puke, and listen to Sam all at the same time. He'd overload. And right now, listening to Sam's screwed up logic was on the bottom of that priority list.

"We'll talk to Bobby, have him call everyone he knows, make them call everyone they know. And let's face it, Bobby knows pretty much everyone so someone out there's gotta know something."

"Dean-"

"We'll get it broken. Just in case, put up extra protection against demons. Make sure we have a gagillion exorcisms ready. Hellhounds... Those things are _evil_, lemme tell ya, but not impossible. There's gotta be a way. We'll just have to do a bunch of research an-"

_"Dean,"_ Sam snapped, and Dean froze, staring down at one of the tiles beneath him. "It's _over_, 'kay? It's fine and it's done. There's nothing we can do about it. The bond will be back in two weeks, two days exactly-" And Dean realized with a jolt that that was why Sam had been so freaked about the time, about how long he'd been out. Not only had Dean been in a coma, but he'd lost time with Sam. And even worse, had he not woken up when he had, he could have woken to a world without Sam in it. "-and you're not gonna find anything useful that quickly. Nothing. Just this once, _let it go_." Eyes slowly raising, Dean stared at him, watching as the fight drained from Sam's body and his brother raised his arms, letting them smack against his sides. "I mean... I got a reprieve, right?" he sighed. "More than we expected the first time... That makes it better."

"You really believe that?" Dean asked, because he didn't. Not at all. It wasn't better, could never be better. If anything, it was worse. Because they were working again; they were going to be _SamandDean _again. Just like they were supposed to be. Dean was going to fix it. And he couldn't imagine, didn't want to imagine, what having that ripped away again would do to him.

It would kill him. Everything that made him Dean Winchester would die.

And he'd die everyday for the rest of forever. Because if Sam went to Hell, there'd be no point to Dean going to Heaven.

Sam forced a smile, dropping down onto the edge of the hospital bed. "Well that's all we have so go with it. Hey, wanna go to the Grand Canyon? That's one place we never got on your pre-Hell binge. Grand Canyon... Where else you wanna go?"

"Sam-" Dean started, shaking his head, but Sam continued on as if he had never said anything at all.

"Could try Canada just to see if we can trick 'em into letting us in." Sam's smile was met head on by Dean's stony expression. Because yeah, Dean'd love to do any of that. Anything at all, really. But not like this. He wanted them to be able to spend time together, as brothers, without the threat of death hanging over them.

Hell, he wanted them to do anything as brothers.

_"You and me against the world, Sammy. Always."_

_...Always..._

Staring straight at his brother, he said, calmly, voice quiet yet so full of conviction, "You're not going back there." And this time, just as when he'd said it in the cage, he knew it was true. Sam was not going back there. He wasn't.

But Sam wasn't so convinced. His brother's lips twitched up into a sardonic smile, calling bullshit. "Dean-" Rolling his eyes, Sam's exasperated tone was one Dean had heard so often. The one that said he thought big brother's were stupid. And maybe they were. Maybe they did have issues. But this was one thing that wasn't stupid. This was one thing he knew wasn't crap, wasn't bullshit.

This was one thing he knew to be undoubtedly true.

"You're not," Dean repeated, hardness creeping into his voice. Because he needed Sam to believe it. He needed Sam to _know_ that he wasn't letting him go back there. Because it hurt to think that Sam thought this was okay. It killed him inside to realize that though they had started to fix things, they weren't right yet. Because Sam shouldn't have thought like that. Sam shouldn't have had to be reminded that Dean wouldn't let him go to Hell again. Sam shouldn't have had to be told how much the very idea of him going back there was killing Dean.

Because Sam never should have been allowed to doubt the fact that Dean cared about him, trusted him, more than anyone or anything else on the entire goddamn planet.

"Don't you dare let yourself go to Hell thinking you haven't dragged me right in after you."

And there it was.

The coldness in his voice came as a surprise, even to him, and from the fact Sam looked like he had been slapped, he figured he really should have planned that out better. But he was too terrified, brain too stuck, too pissed to even figure out what it was that he should have done differently.

"No. No, you're not going to Hell," Sam snapped. "Don't even say that-"

"But I am! Did you ever think about what this would do?"

"Yeah! Save a lot of lives! Including yours-"

"I meant, _to me_. Did you ever think about what this would do _to me!?"_ he yelled, voice breaking. The silence that suddenly stretched between them was heavy, weighted down with everything that hadn't been said. And everything that had. Because again, Sam shouldn't have had to be reminded, shouldn't have had to be told. He shouldn't have had to question that. He should have just known. "You said you made sure it was only you who got hurt? Well, that isn't frickin' possible because you being hurt will _always_ hurt me." The words just started falling from his lips, the way they did only in his rare moments of honesty. Those few times he let himself actually talk to Sam, those few times he let himself tell his brother the flat out truth. "If you go to Hell, _my entire life will be Hell_. And that's only if I can't find a way to follow you in!"

After that, his chest just deflated. And all the anger, all the rage, all the emotions except grief and pain slipped away, leaving him weak and empty. "I can't... I can't lose you again, Sammy," he whispered, feeling his voice break for the second time in less than a minute. "I jus' can't."

Sam's looked to his hands and Dean just stared at his profile, taking in the lines he couldn't remember there being a few days ago. Biting his lip, he shook his head, eyes falling to the ground as he turned, footsteps heavy and loud as he moved from the room.

He only made it to the doorway. Only that far before Sam's quiet voice made him stop.

"Y'know... She kept telling me that I was s'posed to picture _Michael_ cutting the tie. Which is stupid. But it's an old psychic technique, been used for centuries." Sam took a breath and continued on. "They always said Michael because he's s'posed to be strong, s'posed to be a hero, someone everyone can believe in, someone they know can save them from whatever horrible connection they've gotten themselves... But um... The last time, when we were standing in that warehouse, I knew... Michael never worked for me because I can't believe in him anymore. But it cut because... because I pictured you."

Dean's body stayed in place for three more seconds, three seconds exactly, frozen there. But then he was out the door, all but running down the hallway. He didn't know where he was going, just that he needed to go _somewhere. Anywhere_. And it wasn't until he reached the safety of the bathroom, slamming the door closed, that he let himself stop, let himself fall against the wall and sink to the floor.

He couldn't say exactly how long he sat there, the silence ringing in his ears. He couldn't say how long it had been since he left the hospital room.

But there was one thing he could say. The one thing illuminated by the numbers ticking down in his head like the countdown on a bomb.

16 days, 11 hours, and 24 minutes, exactly how long Sam had left.

And he didn't realize he was crying until the first teardrop hit the ground.

* * *

><p><em>Did I mention that there's going to be a sequel?<em>

_Well, there is._

_Come back soon for **In the Absence of Light.**_

_**As a final thank you to all my reviewers, I'll PM every person who reviews this chapter logged-in a short excerpt from the next story. Just tell me whether you want the Angsty!Dean scene or the Badass!Dean scene that ends up being pretty angsty as well.**_

_**What can I say? The beginning of the next story is angsty.**_

_Thanks again, everyone! I seriously love you all!_


	26. Excerpt - In the Absence of Light

_Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, _Supernatural_ has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me._

* * *

><p><strong>Excerpt: <em>In the Absence of Light<em>**

_"Where_!?" Voice so sharp it can slice through glass, pain so tangible Bobby knows that not a single person could possibly ignore it. "_Tell...me...now_." There isn't a shred of the young boy he once knew left. The young boy who spent summers all but destroying his home. The young boy he played catch with in that field. Though Bobby isn't surprised. He knows the things desperation can do to a person, witnessed it firsthand as Sam spiraled away and out of control all those years ago.

And in Dean's eyes, Bobby can see all the burning determination and rage of a kamikaze.

_"Where is he!?"_ It's so hard for Bobby to keep his mouth shut, to stand uncomfortably in the doorway and be the sympathetic, level-headed party. His sole job is to make sure that Dean doesn't kill the bitch. But the more desperate Dean becomes, the more panicked and _lost_, and the less she cooperates, the harder it becomes for Bobby to remember this job. Because he can't really see any advantage to keeping Dean in control.

Not when he wants her and her group dead almost as much as Dean does.

_"Burning in Hell!"_ it screams back, cold laughter tearing out from its throat. Dean doesn't even hesitate, barely lets it get the words out before he's dragging the knife down its arm and they're both listening to her scream.

Ever so slowly, with all the calm of someone trained in the art of torture, Dean kneels down in front of the chair they have it tied to, sitting in the middle of a devil's trap. He stares up at what used to be a woman and Bobby feels even himself shiver. Distantly, he wonders how far he should let this go. Because Dean is slipping farther and farther and farther into the Dean created in Hell. And he knows that if Sam were here, he'd never condone this. If Sam were here, he'd never have let Dean do this. If Sam were here, he'd ask Dean to stop and Dean would. Done. End of story.

But then, if Sam were here, none of this would really be an issue, now would it?

Calmly, Dean repeats, "Where is he?" He runs his fingers along the tip of the blade, avoiding the tainted blood that covers it, breathing in deeply through his nose. "Tell me where he is, _you bitch."_

Chest heaving, the demon smirks and looks down at him, tilting its head to the side. "Hell. I sent him back there myse-" And had Dean been any slower, Bobby would have beaten him to one of the buckets of holy water they have sitting around the room. But Dean's faster and he has the entire thing upended over her head in less than a second, throwing the barrel to the side as she screams.

The oldest Winchester bends over the chair, resting his hands on the armrests as he places himself right in her face. And it's then that Bobby realizes that it won't matter if he wants to stop Dean. It won't matter at all. Because Dean isn't going to stop. Not until he gets what he wants. "You know who I am. You know who I was trained by. Which means you know that I can make you hurt in ways you can't even imagine." It's said so quietly, right into the demon's ear, and Bobby realizes that before, Dean only ever reluctantly admitted that information. Now though... Now, he can use it to protect Sammy. And if he can use it to protect Sammy, he can't muster up the energy to be ashamed of it. "Unless you tell me where my brother is? Get comfy."

"I know you, Dean Winchester," it says. "You wouldn't do anything to permanently damage this casing."

"Well," Dean smirks, standing up, "you obviously don't know me that well." Bobby knows that the girl in that demon is already dead, has been for awhile now. But the demon doesn't know they know that. And honestly, at this point, Bobby isn't sure Dean would care either way.

No, it really doesn't know Dean Winchester at all.

Dean turns around, reaching for Ruby's knife on the table behind him. The smile slips from the demon's face, as if it's finally realized how much trouble it is in. And it fights back the only way it knows how. "I used to watch, y'know. A lot of us did. It was a great show."

Bobby can see Dean's back tense, watches it lock into place just as his jaw does. And now he knows that this demon has just signed its death certificate.

It knows it too. And Bobby realizes suddenly that that's exactly what it wants. A quick and easy death. "Watching Lucifer peel flesh from bone-"

"Shut up." Dean doesn't turn around. It's growled to the wall in front of him which only makes it that much more terrifying. Though his teeth are clenched so tightly that Bobby's surprised that any sound is able to escape at all.

"Hearing him scream-"

"_I said, shut up!"_ Dean shouts, and before Bobby can even process what's happening, Dean's stabbing Ruby's knife in through the demon's shoulder, pinning it to the back of the wooden chair. He turns away immediately after, running his hand down his face as screams fill the basement's walls. And Bobby has to wonder if that's where he should stop him. If this is the line that he shouldn't let Dean cross. Because this is getting too much. Far too much for Dean to handle.

Stepping away from the wall, Bobby starts, "Dean-" but never gets any farther than that. Dean's gaze flickers over to him, just for an instant, and all of Bobby's arguments dry up.

"She knows where he is," Dean tells him. "She knows-"

_"He screamed for you!" _the demon shouts through its sobs. Dean flips back around to face it and the ice that was previously in his eyes transforms into a fire that burns so black and strong that Bobby knows it will be impossible to put out. And at that moment, Bobby really wishes that he could let Dean just kill the thing. Because neither one of them need to hear the shit she's saying. Neither one of them needs the images she's handing out.

Dean storms over to it, pulling the knife from its shoulder. Wetness paints its cheeks and dark hair falls down over the wound. But it doesn't stop. Because it wants Dean to hurt. It wants him to lose it. "Even when you were the one doing the torturing, he still screamed for big brother to come save him. But you didn't, did you!? _You didn't!"_

_"Where's my brother!?"_

"_Hell!_" The knife goes in through its thigh and this time, Bobby doesn't hesitate. Not even as its screams all but shatter his eardrums. Not even as its voice blows out the tiny window at the back of the basement. Because Dean's already reaching for the blade again and he knows that if he's given another chance, it'll go someplace much more vital.

Wrapping his arms around his pseudo-son's chest, he yanks the younger man back, trying to keep him from driving anymore holes into the thing. _"Tell me where my brother is!"_ His screams mix in with hers, melding together into one of the most Earth-shattering sounds Bobby has ever heard.

"Dean, stop! Calm down!" Bobby shouts, trying to make himself heard over everything else, trying to hold back the struggling, far too determined body in front of him. Because he honestly doesn't know what Dean will do if he lets go of him.

The demon drags in deep breaths, chest heaving. And looking up through her eyelashes, she spits, "He's Lucifer's plaything."

Dean lunges forward again, almost tearing himself from Bobby's grip, but Bobby manages to duck around, putting himself in front of the raging hunter. And as crazed as Dean has gotten, Bobby doesn't think he's yet at the point where he'll hit him.

"You're lying," Dean growls over Bobby's shoulder, as if he's not even there. "Tell me where he is or I swear, I will tear you apart."

It smirks, leg jerking. "Sounds like fun."

Dean's fingers twitch against his sides and his eyes meet Bobby's, a clear demand for him to get out of the way. And Bobby would love to. Really. He would. Because this is the same as standing in front of a really pissed off lion at feeding time. But he couldn't. Not yet. "You kill it, Dean, and you'll never know."

The younger's eyebrows raise. "I know that." It's said calmly, almost as if he doesn't understand why Bobby feels the need to state something so obvious.

"You won't know what happened."

Dean blinks. Once. Twice. And then repeats, "I know that." His gaze is blank and that's far scarier than the fire or the ice. At least in both of those cases, Bobby knew what he was dealing with. This is too logical, too clinical. Sighing, Dean adds, "I'm not gonna kill it." The _I wouldn't do that, _is implied, tacked so heavily onto the end of the sentence that Bobby can only nod. Because that he believes.

It's Sam. Dean wouldn't do that.

Taking a breath, Bobby steps out of the kid's way, eyes staying locked on the Demon-killing knife.

But Dean's eyes are locked on the demon.

And as his hand seizes around the handle of the blade, as he shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders back, neck cracking, Dean smirks.

* * *

><p><em>...Coming soon...<em>

_Thanks for reading!_


End file.
